


The Price of a Hundred Days

by ausmac



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Obi-Wan is sold to a brothel on a distant world, he must bargain for his freedom in ways he could not have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story features some fairly full-on rape and sexual exploitation, so don't read further if that offends.

Obi-Wan had always thought the line "a fate worse than death" belonged in bad vids since he couldn't imagine anything worse than being dead.  However, as the Taurian on his back drove into him with a penis that seemed the size of a tree trunk, the concept was becoming clearer. 

Perhaps if I tried to meditate again, he thought, as the big man withdrew and let him fall to the deck.  Qui-Gon did say that meditation was possible under the most trying of circumstances.  This certainly qualifies.  As the next man in line hoisted him up to his knees and he let his head drop to avoid seeing the sweaty faces of the men around him, he thought his Master might have been a bit optimistic.  Theory was one thing....  He hissed at the probing thrust of yet another cock into his stretched and torn anus....but the practice was eluding him at that moment... 

He'd fought them as much as his circumstances allowed, more to salve his pride than with any hope of proving anything.  The little peacekeeping vessel had been on its way to mediate in an inter-colony conflict;  they'd emerged from jumpspace to check a faulty navigation computer and been jumped by a big, heavily Taurian raider.  The crew had fought as best they could, knowing the reputation of Taurians, knowing how few captives survived, but it had been useless.  The raiders had boarded the small ship and killed or taken prisoner everyone aboard.  Obi-Wan had done well, taking out half a dozen of them before he'd been dropped by a lucky stun shot. 

When he'd come awake he'd found himself chained and stripped, spreadeagled against the wall of the raider vessel's bridge.  He'd raised his head, fighting against the nauseous effects of the stun beam - then jerked in surprise as a hand slapped his face. 

"Wake up, you bastard." 

It was a woman's voice, harsh with cold anger and he blinked, trying to force his eyes to focus.  He winced as a hand gripped his hair and pulled his head up. 

"I know you're awake, don't try to pretend you don't understand me, you piece of shit."  The hand shook his head back and forward and he gasped for breath. 

"Alright...awake..." 

"Good."  She let go and Obi-Wan looked across at her.  She was human basic, around forty, tough and lean, dressed in dark pants, boots and a black tight-fitting sleeveless leather tunic.  Her thin cheeks were marked by two deep old scars and her red hair was cut short and spiky, giving her an even more severe appearance.  Gold bracelets were wrapped each upper arm and a pair of sizeable blasters were holstered on the black and silver belt around her hips.  "Now, I haven't quite decided where the profit lies with you, Jedi.  I can kill you easy, push you out the airlock.  You took out six of my men, so killing you wouldn't bring me no recompense." 

"The children.. ."  He focused on her, knowing it was pointless, knowing this woman was anything but weak-minded, but needing to try, still.  Two children, no more than eight years old, had been left to his care by their dying father who'd fought to keep the raiders off the ship.  "Where are they?" 

She smiled slightly, her full lips quirking up.  "Forget it, boy, I'm not affected by that Jedi stuff.  The brats are in the hold.  Give me any trouble, cause me anymore grief, and you can watch them float in vacuum before I burn your eyes out."  She scratched her chin and nodded, thoughtful. "Yes, I might have a way to make money from you, if you're strong enough." 

She turned to the large, armed raider standing behind her.  "Take him away, Coff.  The boys can use him, but leave him alive and don't bust up his face." 

The Taurian unchained him without a word and hauled him to the crew's quarters and there it was that he'd ended up being passed from man to man as they drank dark Taurian beer and laid bets on his endurance.  The leader's Second had made it plain to Obi-Wan from the beginning how things would go. 

"You're going to be well fucked, Jedi." He'd said, as he'd checked out Obi-Wan with two big fingers.  "You're not too tight in here but it's still going to hurt.  How much depends on you.  It can be hard, it can be easy, we don't care either way." 

Being who and what he was, Obi-Wan had ignored the Second's sensible advice and tried to kick him between the legs.  For that he'd earned himself two broken ribs and a black eye.  He'd screamed, the first and last time that day, though his lips were red and swollen from constantly being bitten to hold back further cries.  His attackers enjoyed any sounds he made and he had kept that much from them at least. 

Finally, blessedly, the pain and blood loss took him away to unconsciousness where he felt nothing for quite some time. 

 

 

Voices talking over the top of him - one was a woman, vaguely familiar.  The other a man, unknown. 

".....much he's going to make you, Elgar.  Keep them brats hidden and the threat real and he'll behave.  How many brothels on this or any world can offer a Jedi Knight to clients?" 

The man snorted.  "None, for good reason.  A Jedi, by all the Gods, Shui!  He can break bones just by looking at them!" 

"I tell you he won't, not if you use the brats right.  Now do you want him, or do I take him to Kremmet?" 

"That leech!  He'd end up poxed, a spice addict and  insane inside a week.  All right, I'll take him.  But I had better get my investment back.  And look at him - did you have to let those animals rip him up like this?  It will take days to repair the damage!  Not to mention the cost and inconvenience....alright, don't get nasty.  I'll take him.  A man has a right to complain about damaged goods, doesn't he...?" 

It had been too hard to work out what they were saying and he'd drifted back to sleep again.  He'd dreamed that hands were touching him back there, where the raiders had gone and he'd moaned and tried to move away.  But the hands had not hurt him, had eased the pain and worked soothing creams into him that cooled the hot places, soothed the deep ache.  When he woke again he felt almost normal, except for the bone deep shame that came from the private places the raiders had touched. 

He coughed out of a dry throat and a hand held up his head and something cool was put to his lips.  "Drink.  It's just water."  A woman's voice, efficient, not unfriendly.  He swallowed the water and opened his eyes. 

"Thank you."  Unrecognisable as his voice, that dry, unaccustomed croak. 

She was beautiful in a lush sort-of way.  Long golden hair curled around naked shoulders, flowed over naked full breasts, both nipples pierced by a gold ring.  He blinked and felt himself blushing.  She laughed as she set the cup down on a bedside table. 

"After what you've been through, you can still blush?  You must be a Jedi after all."  She sat back in the over-stuffed chair beside the bed and bent one knee up to rest her chin.  "They say Jedi are like priests, all for the Force and nothing for the body.  Is that so?" 

"I...wouldn't say that," Obi-Wan said slowly, trying not to notice the space between her legs so casually revealed.  He looked about the room, realised suddenly that he was lying on a bed.  And that, like the woman, he was entirely naked.  "Where am I?" 

"You are in the dubious care of Sharrod Elgar, owner and sole proprietor of the Fartides Pleasure House.  Have been for three days since that bitch Pellara Shui sold you to Sharrod." _  
_

_Sold?  Did she say sold_??  "Ah, that can't be right.  A pleasure house?  I can't be sold like....like..." 

"A slave?  Out this far on rim you can, and are, little Jedi.  Not a Jedi enclave or a strong arm of the Republic in twelve parsecs.  As far as anyone there knows, you're dead.  You belong to Sharrod now, so you'd better get used to the idea and make the best of it." 

He pulled himself upright, winced at the pull of torn muscle not fully healed.  "Make the best of it?   Make the best of being raped and sold to a brothel?  Where does the best start, I'd like to do some comparisons?!" 

She chuckled, twirling a length of hair around one finger.  "I see your point.  Still, where's there is life, there is hope, that's what my old ma used to say.  Of course, she did die of a social disease when she was twenty five, so I don't take her advice too much to heart."  She stood, the small bells on the silver chains at her waist and ankles tinkling, and he realised she was very tall, perhaps as tall as Qui-Gon.  "I'll tell the boss you're awake and feeling better.  They'll bring you some food soon from the kitchen and he wants to fill you in on the house rules.  Take care, little Jedi."  She turned to go and Obi-Wan called after her. 

"You didn't tell me your name." 

She turned back at the door.  "No, I didn't, did I?  It's Shawna."  She smiled, tipped  a one-fingered salute to her forehead, and left, locking the door behind her.

 

***

 

_Pink, with small flowers.  How....odd.  He realised he'd been staring at the wall for sometime, eyes focused on the pattern, hardly blinking.  I'd going mad, that's what it is.  Probably a good thing, considering  my current situation._

Bring order to your thoughts, Jedi.  He began cataloguing the points one by one.  One, sent on his first solo mission after knighthood to the far rim, a simple job which he'd blown.  Wouldn't Qui-Gon be impressed about that!  Two, allowing himself to be raped like a weakling.  Well, honesty also allowed him to admit that he could almost certainly have fought his way out, or at least have fought until he was killed, but it wouldn't have saved innocent lives.  The rape itself had been ugly but he wasn't badly hurt, they had humiliated him, made him feel unclean but they hadn't touched his spirit or his heart.  That still belonged to Qui-Gon. 

He had to also admit that he'd clung to life even in the face of the abuse because of Qui-Gon.  They had only been a pair for a little over two months, since his knighthood.  His Master wouldn't allow their relationship to go any further until his apprentice was his apprentice no longer.  Altogether too proud was Qui-Gon Jinn.  There was just too much life ahead, too many loving moments yet unshared for him to die without cause.  And besides, he'd be really annoyed at me for just giving in.  He'd probably have spent a good part of the rest of eternity shaking his head at me.... 

So the immediate needs were to calculate his chances of escape, try and find the children and get himself and them away from there - wherever 'here' was.  Although being naked, unarmed and without a credit to his name were significant hurdles to overcome. He'd always liked a challenge, but this was ridiculous! 

He pulled a covering off the bed, wrapped it around himself his waist and over one shoulder and headed for the door.  Before he could touch it, the door opened and he stepped back automatically as three figures entered.  Two were very large males with equally large muscles and proportionally sized blasters in their bit fists, aimed squarely at him.  The third, standing between them, was a small, slim man, almost middle-aged and unarmed.  He looked across at Obi-Wan and raised one hand. 

"Please step back.  The blasters are set for heavy stun, but it would still hurt." 

Obi-Wan concentrated on the speaker, narrowing his focus, reaching for the Force.  "You've come to let me go." 

The man twitched and - 

\- Obi-Wan found himself on his back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.  The small man's face appeared above him.  "Are you alright?  Can you stand?" 

He actually sounded concerned, which Obi-Wan considered odd in a man of his calling.  Pulling himself upright, Obi-Wan massaged a sore spot at the back of his head.  "What happened?' 

"You tried to mind manipulate me.  While you were unconscious I had my medics install a small chip in your head.  It's sensitive to fluctuations in the Force.  When it detects any coming from you it sends an instruction to the sleep centres of the brain.  You fall asleep instantly." 

Obi-Wan ran his hands back over the sore spot and felt the shaved area of hair.  "You...cut open my head!?  You bastard!" 

The man stepped back as Obi-Wan surged to his feet and- 

\- he was looking up at the ceiling again.  _This is getting repetitive._

There was that annoying face again.  " Would you mind sitting still somewhere for a while so we can talk?  At least if you do it again you get to fall somewhere soft." 

Obi-Wan pulled himself up onto the bed and rubbed his head again.  "Are you telling me I cannot use the Force at all?" 

"I certainly hope not.  You know, young man, most of us get through life without the Force." 

"Most of us aren't Jedi," Obi-Wan muttered, glaring across at his captor.  "I tend to use it without thinking, I have done so all my life." 

"Then I guess you'll be getting lots of rest before you learn not to." 

Obi-Wan studied the other man.  He looked to be around forty, with greying black hair cut to shoulder length, a strong though not handsome face with sharp watchful brown eyes.  Gold earrings hung from each earlobe and he was dressed in fairly garish attire consisting of a red shirt, black trousers and a gold link belt, the outfit completed by black knee-high boots. 

"Very well.  Tell me." 

The other man sat in a chair at the far side of the room with his guards alongside him, watchful but less tense. "My name is Sharrod, Sharrod Elgar and I own this place, the Farsides Pleasure House.  I purchased you from a very nasty piece of work, in a somewhat damaged state." 

"That's one thing we need to sort out," Obi-Wan interrupted  curtly. "I am a Jedi Knight on an official mission for the Senate.  You can't just - buy me!" 

"Well, I did, actually.  I must admit, I wasn't convinced it was a good deal, but I'm an entrepreneur and I occasionally take chances.  I have some quite exotic workers here, one of the best selections on the circuit, but as far as I know, no-one has a Jedi.  It will enhance my reputation if I can keep you." 

Obi-Wan listened to the man with astonishment.  "You catalogue your crimes with amazing honesty.  A slave-keeping brothel owner.  Talking of which, where are the children?" 

"Safe and well.  And they will stay that way as long as you co-operate."  His eyes hardened.  "Understand me, I value my life.  I will not hurt them as long as you behave.  Push me, make me fear for my life or the lives of my workers or customers, and they will suffer.  Not die, but certainly suffer." 

"And a molester of children as well.  You're a fine man, Elgar." 

He saw the older man wince and look away and even though he was cut off from the Force, he thought he saw a guilt in the quick tightening of the mouth and the unhappy sidewards glance. 

"Name-calling will do neither of us any good.  Perhaps we can come to an arrangement, one that will suit us both."    Sharrod sat in a gilded arm chair, perching himself on the very edge as if he still expected Obi-Wan to make some move.  "I'd like to keep you, it would do wonders for my business reputation but I do understand that a long-term arrangement probably isn't practical.  What would you say to a term contract?" 

Obi-Wan blinked, frowned.  "Contact?  To do what?" 

"To work for me.  I will see you are cared for, trained, provided with everything you need on a day-to-day basis.  I will take seventy-five percent of your earnings and bank the rest for the end of the contract.  When the term is up, you will agree to leave without coming back to cause me grief, and you may take the children with you, unharmed." 

He couldn't believe he was sitting there involved in a discussion regarding the contractual details of being a prostitute.  "That sounds...generous.  Not to mention insane." 

Sharrod watched him, intent and outwardly calm.  "In all honesty, Obi. . .do you mind if I call you Obi? -" 

"Yes, I do mind actually!" 

"In all honesty, Obi-Wan, what are your alternatives?  If you try and hurt me or my people, the children will suffer.  Of course, I daresay you can physically escape at some time.  It rather depends on what value you put on your freedom."  He smiled, showing white, even teeth.  "Let's be reasonable here." 

Obi-Wan glared at him and ground his teeth together.  _I can see myself getting to hate this man.  Hate leads to ...oh, forget it..._

Sharrod's voice was soothing, pleasantly cultured, the voice of a professional who probably had learned to deal with a lot of troublesome customers. . . and perhaps troublesome workers.  "Now, you weren't, shall we say, untouched, before you fell into the unpleasant Pallara's hands, were you?  I won't put you with anyone who would injure you or cause you any excessive distress."  He shrugged and smiled.  "Consider it an experience, a part of life's education." 

Obi-Wan knew he was stymied for the moment.  He couldn't access the Force, had no weapons and no way of finding the children, who he refused to leave in the hands of an immoral brothel owner just to gain his own freedom.  With our without the Force, he was still Jedi and had responsibilities and honour that he could not deny. 

"Very well.  I seem to have no choice at this time.  One hundred days you say?  Starting when?" 

Sharrod smiled again, nodded with satisfaction.  "From now."  He offered his hand.  "Touch on it?" 

Obi-Wan shook his head.  "No.  You have my word.  That will have to do.  One hundred days, Sherrod Elgar - for one hundred days you'll have a Jedi whore.  If anyone will believe I am, that is, without my Force abilities to prove it." 

His new employer grinned and stood.  "Ah, but I have Pellara's securecam recordings of your fight.  Very impressive.  It will form part of an most effect promotional package.  Now, you can rest for the remainder of the afternoon, and tonight my adjutant and trainer, Sorbon, will give you a check over and fill you in on some relevant details of our establishment.  Perhaps you will join me for dinner?" 

Before Obi-Wan could refuse, Sharrod swung around and left, his two guards following him.  The door closed, followed by the sound of a lock clicking.  Obi-Wan was left alone with his thoughts. 

_A whore.  I am a whore.  For. . .three standard months.  One hundred days.  One hundred nights_ He rolled onto his back and gingerly rested his head on his hands, trying to forget the little thing lodged inside somewhere.  "I just hope you paid someone who knew what they were doing to put that thing in my head, Sharrod!"  He rather suspected that a smart brothel owner would have his rooms bugged.  

Qui-Gon, wherever you are, he thought, feeling a little sorry for himself, please find me soon.  This isn't the career I had in mind when you cut my braid .  . .

 

 

. . .They'd been on Alderaan when the news of Obi-Wan's formal acceptance to the order had come through.  The conference on genetic and cloning controls had been as predictably dull as it was important and no-one had missed the Jedi representatives for one special evening.  They'd taken dinner in their rooms and gone out on to the balcony with their wine.  The trees was bright with sparkflies and Gordarian nightbloomers filled the air with their warm perfume. It was just right, as sometimes thing are at the appropriate time. 

Qui-Gon had sat beside him on the bench and taken a small pair of silver scissors from his belt pouch.  "I have been saving these," he'd said, as he bent towards Obi-Wan, "for a long time."  He had reached up with an appealing formality and sliced the braid cleanly through.  He'd caressed the long length of bound hair, then looked across at Obi-Wan, his features hidden by the darkness, but his voice was rich with affection. 

"At last."  That was all he'd said.  At last.  And then he'd opened his arms and Obi-Wan had slipped into them and they'd gone from there to the shower, then to the bed and lain together as lover for the first time.  They hadn't even had sex that first time, just slept together, and it was the most perfect night of Obi-Wan's life.  To lie in Qui-Gon's arms at last, to love him openly, Jedi Knight to Jedi Knight.  Master no more, yet always.  Lover always and equal in love. . . 

_Qui-Gon_.  He would never speak his name until he spoke it aloud when he saw him again.


	2. Chapter 2

He was very out-of-place, he knew that, but was too tired to try and blend in.  Besides, the locals knew who he was, why he was there.  A Jedi, on Search.  Someone you could ignore unless you were between him and what he was searching for. 

Qui-Gon brushed his sleeve across his face, wiping the rivulets of sweat and warm rain from his eyes.  Quodar was hot and wet and uncomfortable for anything but is reptilian indigenous lifeforms but it was the first stop on his quest.  Here he started searching in earnest for Obi-Wan. 

As he walked along the unpaved street, his boots making squelching noises in the mud, he contemplated his plans.  It had been days before he knew that something had happened.  The ship carrying Obi-Wan on his mission had been delayed, but a delay was no great concern.  When one day's delay stretched to two,  he'd begun to worry.  After three he sent out a communication to the distant world that Obi-Wan had been heading for.  

The ship had never arrived.  As far as the planetary authorities on that distant world were concerned, it had just vanished. 

So he'd reported to Mace Windu, received the authority go, packed his bags and headed off to follow Obi-Wan's trail.  The little ship Obi-Wan had chartered had left from Quodar, so it was the first stop and the last place with any record of the ship's journey. 

Something told him Obi-Wan was alive.  It might be wishful thinking but he and his Padawan had always been close and since they had become paired it seemed that the Force flowed between them with a vigorous sensitivity.  

_I will not believe he is dead until I see the truth with my own eyes_. Each time the notion of his Obi-Wan dead surfaced he pushed it down.  He recognised it was a sort of denial, but it was one he was perfectly comfortable with. 

Tightening the pack on his back, he quickened his pace.  Time to start asking questions.

 

 

He opened his eyes, realised he'd fallen asleep in spite of everything.  It wasn't a dream or some odd mental aberration.  He was still lying on that bed, naked, with a piece of technology in his head that stopped him from using a sense he had always had.  Not very funny at all. 

Well, Force or no Force, he was still Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, and he'd behave accordingly.  He relaxed tense muscles and when he was calm he began to systematically investigate his body.  There had been at least one broken rib, but aside from some tenderness and residual bruising that seemed to have been healed.  There was no real pain anywhere, in fact.  Even...down there...was little more than stiff.   A tiny section of his hair had been removed - obviously his new "owner" was concerned with cosmetic appearance - and an equally small scar.  This little device would make for interesting research when he returned to Coruscant. 

As he lay fingering the tiny bald patch on his head, he wondered what Qui-Gon would think of his decision.  Would he be ashamed that his lover had prostituted himself?  _And can I still be Jedi when this is through?  There probably aren't many ex-whores in the Order, now I come to think of it_. Well, worrying about tomorrow before it arrived would do him no good. 

"Center yourself in the moment, Obi-Wan."  How many times had his Master said that?  Often, very often.  He liked to cast himself into the Force, to sense the flow of the vast potential, to ride the waves of possibility like a Skenaldi Surf Dancer.  There was no Force now, though, no way of pre-empting events.  He would have to pass each moment as everyone did, waiting to see what happened. 

Some time later his slightly morbid thoughts were interrupted by a short beep at the door.  Nothing happened and he realised it was a door chime.  Someone was actually asking to come in. 

"Ah...enter." 

The door opened and a tall, well-built man of around Qui-Gon's age stepped inside. 

"Thank you.  My name is Sorbon Ess, I am Adjutant and Trainer at Farsides.  May I sit down?" 

"Certainly."  Obi-Wan hitched himself up to sit with his back against the bed headboard.  He considered covering himself, then realised that this man had probably seen people of all sorts in every state of undress and its seemed pointless. 

Sorbon was thin but fit, his greying brown hair cut very short, and he sat in the chair that Sharrod had used.  Dressed neatly in a grey suit and white shirt, he seemed, to Obi-Wan, rather military in his upright posture and clipped, slightly nasal voice. 

"So, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Welcome to Farsides.  It is my job to introduce new workers to the establishment, instruct and train them in their duties and handle the settling in process.  I understand you were injured - are you feeling well now?" 

"Well enough thank you." 

The older man nodded.  "Good. Let me fill you in a little.  Farsides caters to a wide range of clientele, mostly humanoid, both sexes.  Sharrod tells me that you will be seeing both men and women. . ." 

Obi-Wan's eyes widened.  "I will?" 

"Certainly.  Oh, do you think that only males use brothels?  Certainly not.  An attractive young man such as yourself will almost certainly appeal to some our female clients, especially considering your background.  Now," he said, ignoring Obi-Wan's open-mouthed awe, "tomorrow I will organise a complete check-over for you physically, we will carry out a number of cosmetic treatments -" 

"Such as?"  Obi-Wan asked, fascinated in spite of himself. 

"Oh, mostly superficial.  An all-over depilatory, a slight hair tint, I think, to bring out the natural colour and gloss, a thickening process which will give it more body.  You will be fitted with some decorative rings - to ears and nipples to begin with I think - and an all-over body tint to slightly darken your skin to a more sun-tanned colouring.  You will be measured and fitted for your performance clothing and measured for penis rings, harnesses - oh, and yes, if you are passed as healthy, I'll fit your first sphincter plug." 

Obi-Wan's jaw practically unhinged.  "Sphincter.  Plug."  His eyes glazed over.  "Aargh." 

Sorbon's harsh expression slipped into a slight smile.  "Look, why don't you relax.  Call me Sorb, most of the young ones do.  I also double as counsellor and protector - you'll have a security bracelet fitted tomorrow, just in case you need to call for me.  Sharrod said he'd be keeping you on light duties for the first week or so, till you learn the paths, but I will be here if you strike any trouble, unlikely as it is.  The sphincter plug," he finished, relaxing back and putting one leg over the other, "is to widen you, so though it sounds odd - and feels odd, I'm told - it's ultimately for your own good." 

"Sorb."  Obi-Wan smiled back, restrained an instinctive urge to flood the man with Force persuasion.  "I am a Jedi, an official representative of the Republican Senate.  Could you contact someone - -" 

"No.  Sorry.  That's none of my business.  Most of our workers are free contractors, though we do have a couple of indentures.  It's unusual for Sharrod to buy a slave, you must be very special to him - but be that as it may, I do not interfere with his business arrangements. Now, I suggest you take a shower and get dressed, Sharrod has asked me to bring you to his rooms for dinner.  I'll be back in a quarterpart." 

After Sorb had left, Obi-Wan sat for a few minutes thinking about the strange conversation, recognised that it was all just too outrageous to absorb, and went through to wash and dress.  A pair of plain white pants, a blue short sleeved shirt-tunic and a pair of comfortable leather slippers were laying on the bed when he emerged from the shower, the work of the small silver droid standing beside the door.  As he dressed, it flipped a sensor in his direction and spoke in a tinny voice. 

"If you will follow me, sir, I will take you to Master Elgar's rooms." 

Obi-Wan pulled the shirt over his head, ran his fingers through his damp hair and pulled on the slippers.  "Very well, lead the way." 

The door swung open at a touch and Obi-Wan followed the droid out into the hallway.  He passed two other people in the corridor, though it was hard to tell if they were customers, workers or staff and none of them spoke to him or gave him more than a nod in passing.  They went up in an elevator to a floor above and came out into a much more luxurious apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a nightime cityscape.  He walked to the window and looked out; it was smaller and less built-up than Coruscant and he realised, suddenly, that he had no idea what planet he was on, what star system, where in the galaxy he was. 

He saw reflection of the door behind him opening and Elgar enter. 

"Good evening.  Feeling better?" 

Obi-Wan turned and tucked his hands behind his back.  "Physically, yes." 

Elgar walked across to a nearby table and poured himself a glass of something golden from a clear bottle.  "I know, it's difficult.  I won't try to rationalise it or justify myself.  By your standards, I'm a criminal.  By mine, someone trying to make a living as best I can."  He took a drink and waved a hand in the direction of a prepared table.  " Won't you sit down, I've ordered a light meal.  As Sorb doubtless explained, you can rest tonight and get down to business tomorrow." 

So Obi-Wan sat, and ate, and listened as Sharrod described his business.  "I have fifteen workers, not including yourself, and seven general employees, as well as a small band of droids of differing functions.  Oh, and please, try not to antagonise Citeet, my cook.  He has a sensitive ego and it took me a year to get him away from his last employer.  Anyhow, as I say, I have fifteen - sixteen now - workers.  Twelve female, four males.  All but five are human standard.  Of the rest there is one Wookie, one Twi'leck, and three other species of humanoids.  Shawna, one of my best girls, has volunteered to be your guide for your first days, to introduce you to the others and show you around." 

Sharrod continued to ramble on while Obi-Wan ate.  He didn't argue and asked few questions.  Exhaustion was catching up with him, mingled shock and the stress of the previous days dragging at him.  He blinked as he caught one sentence - 

"- and I've already received one or two off-world signs of interest in you.  I can't advertise too widely, of course, but the Jedi aren't likely to look for you  on the Circuit." 

The notion of being advertised like a prime form of entertainment was disquieting.  Obi-Wan felt a mild twinge of concern as he wondered who - or what - might be interested in responding to Sharrod's promotional activities.... 

 

In another system, on another world, a dark-haired man studied the compscreen with astonished interest.  Running a finger over the face on the screen, he chuckled and shook his head.  

"Well, well.  Who would have believed it?"  Seated behind the pilots of his personal shuttle, the black-garbed figure tapped in a set of co-ordinates.  "Captain, when we have finished this delivery, I may wish to travel to these co-ordinates.  Research this planet for me and send for my primary agents." 

The Captain nodded as he moved to obey.  "Yes, Lord Xanatos." 

 

He was in some sort of retail area, huge, very busy, hundreds of people everywhere.  He wanted to be served, was looking for a gift for Qui-Gon, a very special gift and he knew that he wouldn't be able to leave until he found that one special thing.  Yet he couldn't seem to find someone to serve him - it was if he wasn't there, they simply looked through him or walked around him until one of them turned and smiled at him -- but it was a scruffy, dark face and the smile was greedy and the man raised a hand and said,  boy, you just can't get good service anymore, and he turned away and there was another one, trying to grab him and he called out for help but no-one listened as the hands pulled at him. . . 

And then there was tap on his arm and the sound of a tinny voice near his ear pulling him from disturbed dreaming to awareness.  Obi-Wan yawned and looked around, blinking.  Sunlight was streaming in through the window, the day was well along. 

"Sir, it is time to rise." 

He turned his head and looked around to where the bright metal dome of the little droid showed above the edge of the bed.  It was withdrawing the metal appendage it had used to tap him awake. 

"Hmph."  He yawned again and stretched, pleased at the lack of pain.  He slipped from the bed and padded across to the fresher as he spoke.  "What time is it?" 

"It is sixteen minutes past the eight hour, sir.  I shall prepare your clothing if you wish to wash." 

"Thank you..."  Obi-Wan popped his head out the bathroom door.  "What do I call you." 

"My official designation is FU2, sir." 

Obi-Wan blinked.  "FU...too?" 

"Yes sir." 

Obi-Wan was pleased to note that his sense of the ridiculous hadn't completely disappeared.  "That's a rather unfortunate designation, considering your place of business." 

"Sir, you have no idea!  Although my memory chips have been corroded I believe it may have been a deliberate choice by my owner, especially since I was designed to assist a Dental Hygienist.  Talking of which, sir, there is a new tooth cleaner in the bathroom, please do not forget to use it regularly."  The little droid swung around, keeping its sensor focused on him as it went about gathering clothing for him to wear.  "My designation does seem to amuse many of the employees and guests." 

"Well, I'll call you Foo then, shall I?"  He bit down on a smile as the droid whistled briefly. 

"Yes sir, thank you.  It is certainly not what I am normally called." 

He washed his face, combed his hair and dressed in the provided draw-string pants and straight tunic before following the droid up to the Adjutant's rooms on the upper level.  Sorbon was already eating when he arrived and Obi-Wan collected a plate of varied fruits and bread and sat down at the large dining table next to the Adjutant. 

"We have a busy day ahead of us, young man," the Adjutant said as he poured Obi-Wan a cup of Cha.  "Have you showered yet?  No?  Good, when we're finished here I'll take you through to the baths." 

Obi-Wan took the mug and stirred in some honey.  "I'd like to speak to the children, to make sure they are alright." 

The older man sipped his tea, then added a little more honey.  "Certainly, Sharrod assumed you would wish that and has arranged for you to use a vidphone at lunchtime." 

Those peaceful few moments over cha and breakfast were the last quiet moments of the day for Obi-Wan.  After showering, he was dressed in a thigh-length robe and handed over to the bath attendant.  His hair was washed and treated with a highlighter colouring that preserved his own colour but gave his hair an almost metallic gleam, as well as adding extra body.  It was trimmed and brushed till it glowed. 

Then the chief masseur arrived.  He was checked over thoroughly for any sign of stiffness or injury before the depilatory cream was applied. 

It went everywhere but his head.  His cheeks, chest, arms, bottom, legs and genital area was completely treated.  The cream was washed away in yet another bath, leaving his skin entirely free of hair.  The masseur explained the cream's function as he rubbed moisturising creams into Obi-Wan tingling skin. 

"It's a special mixture created just for human skin.  It can only be used around once every two weeks as it strips away the very upper layer of epidermis.  It also contains a pigment-specific dye that will give your skin a golden colouring, as if you had tanned for some time." 

Another man, older and very prissy, came in to measure him.  He was introduced at Barten Tee, the House tailor.  He measured Obi-Wan everywhere, including - to his discomfort - measuring his penis.  The big man hummed and tisked as he ran the small electric measuring device down and around Obi-Wan cock. 

"Excellent, a decent dimension, if I may say." 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, trying to ignore the hand holding his sensitised flesh.  "Why are you doing that?" 

"Oh, didn't Sharrod explain?  You have to be measured for a penis ring and a sheath.  The ring you will use quite often, the sheath less often, but we do like to be precise.  We also require it for our records." 

"Ring?"  Obi-Wan tried to picture it, and failed lamentably.  "Around it?" 

"Yes.  Many of our customers enjoy our male workers wearing the rings.  A gold one for you, I think, to match your colouring.  Sharrod has decided to make your performance apparel a sort of alternate of Jedi clothing.  Leggings, short slip-off boots, two layers of tunic and a sash belt.  They will be in three shades of white or cream and made of Helesian silk, a very lush, soft fabric.  There will be a matching outer full-length robe in royal blue.  You will look delightful." 

Obi-Wan had not quite got past the idea of a cockring, so the clothing design made no real impression on him.  He was still contemplating the idea when the masseur returned with an older woman who was carrying a portable medical pack.  

"Obi-Wan, this is Cyvel, she is here to do your piercings.. . ." 

By lunchtime he was the bemused owner of a pair of pierced nipples decorated with gold sleeper rings, and a single small ring through his left ear.  When the local wore off his nipples strung a little but the rings were coated with a chemical that deadened any pain and he'd received precise instruction on their care and was told repeatedly not to scratch them if they itched.  The nipples had also been coloured with another dye that made them a darker rose colour. 

Sorbon came to visit while he was being fitted with his sphincter plug.  The masseur had positioned him over the massage table and inserted the lubricated plug into him with clinical care.  As he stood he felt it rubbing against him and caught sight of himself in a full length mirror.  His skin glowed under the light, hairless and smooth, his hair lay around his head in a mass of soft red/gold and the rings at his chest and ear gleamed.  It was the most astonishingly barbaric thing he'd ever seen. 

He wriggled his hips, not sure what bothered him more, the physical discomfort or the embarrassment of having it there. 

"You will get used to it," Sorbon said, as he inspected the insertion.  "Take it out tonight and when you need to use the bathroom.  Keep it in when you are not working.  Trust me, you will appreciate its effects.  Now, get your robe on and I'll take you on a tour of Farsides." 

Farsides was built on three levels.  The ground level contained the entry foyer, the public rooms, bar and restaurant.  The second level was the working level, with what Sorbon called Quarters - the rooms were the workers took the customers, as well as housing those workers who were permanent residents.  The upper level was private, with Sharrod's and Sorbon's rooms, the offices, storage rooms, and all the facilities used by the staff and workers.  

The hours between breakfast and lunch were the House's quietest time and the foyer was empty when they stepped out of the elevator.  It was an attractive area and surprisingly unpretentious.  Obi-Wan had expected garish decorations and possibly a lot of artwork featuring lewd figures - instead there was soft carpeting, waterfeatures, muted lighting and masses of flowers and tapestries.  It looked like the entry to an embassy or private home rather than a whorehouse. 

Walking past a pool filled with lilies and golden fish, they entered a large open room furnished with sofas and small tables.  A musical group were setting up their instruments in one corner and one or two people were chatting or reading datapads.  They looked up as Sorb and Obi-Wan entered and Obi-Wan saw Shawna on the other side of the room talking to a young man.  She waved to him, bent to say something to the man and headed towards him.  Obi-Wan noted she was in the same state of undress as during their first brief meeting. 

"Shawna is something of a character," Sorb said mildly as the two men watched the tall woman saunter bare-foot across the carpet.  "She has a nearly total lack of inhibition, which makes her a natural whore, of course.  Shawna, the booking droid tells me that Count Deckel has asked for you again tonight.  Whatever it was you did in the Arboretum seems to have made quite an impression on him." 

She waved one hand languidly as she stopped in front of Sorb.  "Poor Count.  He has this tedious professional wife who has no imagination.  We played the hunter and the wild woman.  We had a lot of fun.  Hello Obi-Wan, how are you feeling?" 

"Lost." 

She chuckled and slipped a hand under his arm.  "I'll bet.  It's alright, Sorb, I'll show him around." 

The Adjutant nodded.  "Very well, I'll talk to you later, Obi-Wan.  Have him back upstairs by the middle afternoon hour, Shawna, and he has a call booked on the vidphone at midday." 

They toured the rooms and Shawna made a pleasant guide.  She was relaxed, amusing and obviously very popular with everyone in the House.  Obi-Wan found himself being introduced to a menagerie of fascinating characters.  He met all the workers; the youngest was a young man of eighteen with the face of an angel and golden blonde hair that fell to his waist, the oldest was a woman of around thirty who came from a heavy gravity world and was quite probably the fittest human Obi-Wan had ever seen. 

"Thelmar can lift me off the floor with one hand," Shawna whispered as they watched the woman lifting heavy chairs for exercise.  "Some of the men really love being with a woman who can toss them around the room.  Aren't men funny creatures, though.  Oh dear, not you, you're lovely.  You should see her and young golden boy there together.  He's such a fragile looking little imp and Thelmar mothers him, which he loves, of course, the little sweety." 

There was a quiet musical sound in the air and Shawna stopped.  "Ah, the first customers of the day are arriving, we'd best leave the Lounge since you aren't dressed for guests.  My only booked customer is the Count and I won't be seeing him till tonight, so let's have an early lunch and then you can make your call."  She led him through to the restaurant and they ordered salad and fish and a bottle of crisp white wine.   As they ate, she explained life at Farsides. 

"Sharrod is a shrewd businessman though not the bravest man in the world, so I'm rather surprised he took you on," she said as she ate a piece of bread.  "He must have been tempted past his normal . .."  She stopped as she saw Obi-Wan staring at the table, suddenly pale.  "What is it?" 

"I can't.  I can't do this."  He began to shake, the memories of the rape suddenly flooding him, the thought of strangers touching him, taking him - - "It's ...it's impossible." 

She put her hand over his and held it in her warm grasp.  "It's alright.  Take a moment, relax." 

He took a few deep breaths, began to calm as his training took over.  "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened.  It just hit me, all of a sudden." 

"Yes, I understand honey.  You may be a Jedi, but you're a person first and not made of metal like our droid friends.  It's alright to be scared sometimes, you know." 

He looked across into her face, saw the caring in her eyes and wondered at it.  "Thank you.  I'm not normally prone to panic attacks.  I've trained all my life to handle dangerous situations, I should be able to do this." 

"This isn't danger, Obi-Wan, this is being coerced into having sex with total strangers.  I do understand that.  I don't guess coping with that is a common part of Jedi training." 

He took a drink of his wine and a deep, gusting breath.  "No.  This is so intrusive.  I must admit it is stretching my adaptive abilities.  Though," he said, finding it easier to smile at her, "it seems to be a fairly civilised place." 

"Farsides?"  She stretched back, her body rippling like some great cat.  "Oh, very.  A much nicer place than one you could have ended up in, and Sharrod vets the clientele - they have to pass physical tests as well, for any sexually-transmitted diseases.  He doesn't let just anyone go with us.  Talking of which, Sorb wanted me to explain how things work." 

As they drank their wine, Shawna explained the systems of the brothel in a calm and professional way that soothed away his earlier mood; the bookings, the workers rights, the way they found out who they were with on any day, Farsides' policies regarding treatment of the workers.  The latter she particularly emphasised. 

"This isn't a brothel catering to rough trade.  While we do a little of that, depending on the taste of the individual, you don't have to allow yourself to be tied up, beaten or otherwise abused.  We're here for sexual pleasure not for physical abuse.  And yes, the rooms are watched via securitycam and large, determined guards will turn up to mangle anyone that tries to hurt a worker." 

"Oh, that's a relief," he said, with the slightest shadow of sarcasm, and she chuckled. 

"Cut that out.  I'm being a serious teacher here.  Also, Sorb will give you a dose of Sweetlife each evening if you need it, which you certainly will.  It's a combination powerful aphrodisiac and sedative, though the sedative is very mild.  Relaxes your mind, fires up your loins.  And before you ask, its non-addictive."  She looked at his slightly glazed eyes, mouth pursed thoughtfully.  "Also, being a male and most likely being more with other males, you'll be required to have an enema each night.  For hygiene as well as comfort." 

Obi-Wan felt he had gone beyond shock and into the realm of fantasy.  "Well, that is something to look forward to.  A new experience for me." 

She bit her lip and patted his arm.  "Look on the bright side - you'll know more about the workings of your body and be able to give the best sex in the whole Jedi Order by the time you're finished."  She stopped, thoughtful.  "I didn't think - is there someone -" 

"Yes."  He cut her off, abrupt.  "But I don't think I wish to talk about that." 

She nodded.  "That's fine.  While they'll probably be distressed, that sort of pain heals very quickly, you know.  Anyhow, let's go organise your call, and then you have to report back to Sorb for final briefing." 

Shawna took Obi-Wan into a small office equipped with a vidphone and waited while he spoke to the children.  They both seemed well and happy and the sight of their obvious healthy, unfrightened faces cheered Obi-Wan considerably.  She returned him to Sorb's care with a wave and a brief hug before heading off.  Obi-Wan was fitted for his clothing while Sorb made sure he understood his duties and rights as a Farsides worker.  He was inoculated against a variety of sexual diseases - just in case any slipped through the House's medics - instructed to remove his plug for the night and taken back to his rooms for the evening. 

As he watched the sun set through his window, Obi-Wan knew that this would be his last evening alone.  Tomorrow  his obligations within his deal with Sharrod would begin.


	3. Chapter 3

Zanatos studied the report from his senior Agent.  "One, let me make sure I understand these facts.  You found absolutely no sign of any Jedi presence on Beefect?  None?  This is extremely important." 

The small, nondescript agent nodded.  "No, my Lord, I checked thoroughly, as you instructed.  Unless there were Jedi undercover - which is, of course, difficult to confirm - there was no record that a Jedi - other than the one at the brothel - has ever been on Beefect." 

Zanatos sucked on his bottom lip thoughtfully.  "Yes, that would be hard to track, though I assume you paid out a decent amount of bribes for any sight of a man fitting Qui-Gon Jinn's description?" 

"Yes, my Lord.  None of the starport workers, or the customs officers, who see everyone coming through, have any record or memory of anyone fitting your description over the last few weeks." 

One was his best agent and extremely thorough but Xanatos knew it was still a risk.  It could easily be some sort of trap.  Perhaps, he thought, I am being paranoid, but the lure of this extraordinary communication was so powerful.  If it was meant to trap anyone, it would be one such as he, an enemy of the Jedi - of two Jedi in particular - who would find it almost impossible to resist. 

He dismissed his Agent and sat for a while in thought.  Wisdom finally overcame avarice.  He would wait.  He would send in Two to try this place, to find out what he could, to test the waters.  He would watch and see if the trap sprang on any other game.  If not - well, if it was indeed what it seemed, then in time he would be making a visit to Farsides Pleasure House. . . 

 

And far away, following hints and leads so frustratingly non-conclusive, Qui-Gon searched.

 

 

He'd woken three times in the night, twice because of strange muddled dreams and once by the crashing sound of a storm that had somehow blended with the dreaming and turned it violent. 

Qui-Gon sat awake, finally, watching the lightning strobe the darkness, the rain wash and pound on the thick glass.  He wasn't accustomed to being at odds with his subconscious and he rarely had disturbed sleep.  Since he'd started the search for Obi-Wan his sleep had become more and more broken, more cluttered with images.  Whatever it was that was causing it, he wished it would go away.  He needed undisturbed sleep, for he had a long way to travel and was alone. 

He was surprised at the loneliness.  For years he'd held himself aloof, proud of his independence, certain he needed no-one.  Obi-Wan had penetrated that armour just by being himself.  Now that he was alone again, the Jedi Master found that he had no taste for it.  He'd grown too accustomed to the company.  To one special person's company. 

He rested his chin on one hand, wiping the sleep from his eyes and yawning.  It was worst in the early morning, in the dark hours after midnight when the fears settled in his brain.  The fear that Obi-Wan was dead, his body lost somewhere out in space, floating somewhere cold and alone.  Or turned to ashes, to debris, just as lost, just as dead.  Hope carried him in daylight, dread visited him at night. 

A spark of lightning flashed on the small datachip sitting on the bedside table and he picked it up, twirled it between two fingers, weighing it.  It held a message, from an unidentified source.  All it said was "He is alive.  Go to the address below, collect the parcel and take it to Fliett.  There you will receive further information."  There were other instructions warning that if he broke the seal or tampered with the parcel, he would get nothing. 

He had sat and stared at the message for a long time.  Every instinct he had was sending him bad vibrations.  Logically, he knew what he should do.  Ignore it.  An honest person would have offered the information.  Even a normal criminal would have bartered for it.  This smelt of a trap or some sort of plot against him.  He was being used, which he didn't like at the best of times.  That he know way of knowing what he was being used for troubled him even more. 

It smelled wrong, very wrong, but it was his only lead and he couldn't turn away from it, no matter where it led.  Yet he knew, with a certainty that tasted of Force prescience, that whoever had sent it did not wish him or his lover well. . . 

 

 

The air was warm, carrying the faint musky smell of sex.  In one corner of the room a group of five live musicians performed some quiet classical piece and lanterns flickered in the evening breeze drifting through open windows.  People moved around the room, others sat and drank, there was conversation, even some laughter.  Some of those who passed look down at him with interest, saw the blue button on his robe and continued on.  The button indicated a worker booked for the evening.  His first customer was on the way. 

Obi-Wan sighed even as he noted the effects of the drug he'd been given a few hours before.  He should be terribly nervous but he felt disconnected, as if he were viewing events from a distance.  Not numb exactly but somehow not terribly concerned.  He might be waiting to have dinner and not sitting there waiting for a stranger to arrive who would take him to bed. 

His mind drifted back to the events of the day.  Shawna had kept him company after breakfast, taking him to his final fittings for his clothing, then to the last touch ups, massage and the dreaded enema.  That had been something of an experience;  not painful, but peculiar and he wondered how anyone could find anything in the least sexually intriguing about having one's bowels washed out.  

Over lunch she had given him the Farsides equivalent of a "birds and bathels" talk. 

"I don't want to pry," she'd said, then proceeded to pry.  How much sexual experience did he have, giving and receiving?  Did he have experience with oral sex, masturbation of himself and manipulation of another?  Sex with men and women?  With alien species?    What did he know of sexual aids and tools?  Had he ever used or received light bondage?  She explained what would be required of him, how to judge what his customers wanted, and how to treat them. 

"Their requirements are noted when they book in," she'd said, pouring him a cup of Tea and sweetening it with honey.  "Any sexual preferences, their tastes in food and wine, if they require a performance.  Sharrod has booked you with Toddi for your first time, which is sort of a tradition for the House.  Toddi almost always takes the new workers for their first night, and he's very gentle.  When you get up to your room the best way to break the ice is to offer a drink and then proceed from there.  Your booking details will tell you a lot about what they want, and there will generally be a profile.  Some may want to enact a seduction, some will ask you to undress them, will undress you or want you to strip.  You follow their lead.  The idea," she said, sipping her Tea, "is to give them a good time.  It's what they are paying for." 

A good time.  This is what I have trained for all my life, he thought, fiddling with the fabric of his blue robe.  Trained as a Jedi, able to use the Force for the good of the Republic, skilled in languages, history, technology and negotiation, strategic sciences and policy.  And here I am, waiting to service some stranger in a brothel.  To give them a good time. 

"Hullo.  You must be Knight Kenobi." 

He blinked and looked up into a pleasantly smiling face.  Ingrained courtesy prompted him to stand and accept the offered hand. 

"Yes.  Are you Toddi?" 

"That's me, Toddi Markham."  The man, who looked to be around ten years older than Obi-Wan, perched himself on the chair next to Obi-Wan, who sat back down.  "I suppose this is all very peculiar to you." 

"You could say that." 

"Well, as you can imagine, you are just the talk of the town.  A real Jedi.  I had to pay Sharrod a huge fee to be here with you, even with my privileges as an original member."  He cleared his through and Obi-Wan thought he might be nervous.  Brown, calm eyes studied him, speculative but not unfriendly.  "Would you like to stay here a while longer or.." 

"No"  Obi-Wan stood again, suddenly nervous.  "We can go now." 

Toddi stood and nodded, still smiling.  "Very well, after you." 

They turned towards the elevator, unaware that across the room one of the customers watched Obi-Wan's departure will special interest. 

 

Obi-Wan stepped inside and hesitated as Toddi moved past him.  The older man seemed to sense his nervousness and didn't move too close. 

"Would you like some wine?  No?  It's a nice drop, very tart.  Ah, and they remembered the salt wafers."  Toddi picked up the plate of wafers and his wine and slid into a large armchair.  He sipped the wine and watched Obi-Wan, who had not moved from his spot just inside the door.  "You look spectacular.  I don't suppose that's an authentic Jedi outfit?" 

"Not exactly."  Taking a shaky breath, Obi-Wan moved across the room and sat in second armchair near the window.  "The Order doesn't generally use silk."  He stroked one sleeve absently.  "It is a nice fabric though."  He was inane, he knew that, but he couldn't seem to meet the other man's eyes, had trouble thinking of anything sensible to say. 

"The only Jedi I ever saw were on Coruscant when I went there for business once.  They all dressed very simply, I remember, but moved with such...I dunno, grace.  Like dancers even when they were just walking.  I envy that.  I'm very clumsy.  Two right feet, as my wife used to say." 

"You're married?" 

"I was.  She died some years ago." 

Obi-Wan looked across into the man's eyes, noted they were brown and intelligent, and they were watching him with open curiosity. 

"So, you have sex with women and men?" 

Toddi continued to nibble on a wafer, apparently unconcerned.  "Sure.  Along with just about anything else with my IQ or better that will lie still long enough.  Sharrod will tell you, I'm an insatiable experimenter.  I have a fairly low boredom threshold." 

"I see.  Toddi."  Obi-Wan smiled, leant forward to whisper in what might have seemed a flirtatious way.   "I am here against my will.  Can you help me?  Can you get a message out. . ." 

Toddi put a finger to his lips and pointed up.  "Security is always watching.  Even if I could, I wouldn't.  Sharrod's an old friend and fairly forgiving, but I'd never be allowed through the door again, and this place is real important to me.  I'm sorry, and it wouldn't matter anyhow.  He wouldn't let me." 

Obi-Wan nodded and looked down at his hands.  He'd known it was pointless but he had to try.  "So you come here often and have sex with strangers?" 

The other man's mouth twitched.  "It's better than going through the motions with people you know or might meet who turn out to be wrong in one way or another.  Here I pay, I enjoy myself and there are no ties."  He shrugged and ate another cracker.  "Might not suit everyone, but it works for me." 

The conversation drifted along inconsequentially and Obi-Wan found himself relaxing.  There was no sense of ravishment, no coarse behaviour, it was almost social.  He'd begun to wonder what his man expected of him with Toddi finally finished his wine and stood, slipping his coat off. 

"This room has a very nice spa, as I remember.  While I'm sure you're clean, I've had a hard day and I would love it if you would help me get clean too."  He sauntered towards the bathroom, dropping clothing as he went and Obi-Wan followed.  It had been an instruction, no matter how politely worded.  The man wanted him in the tub with him.  Well, that mightn't be so bad. 

The spa was already full and it required only a tap of a wall control to start the water bubbling gently.  Naked and unembarrassed, Toddi slipped into the tub with a sigh of pleasure. 

"Oh, that feels good.  On the bench behind you is a scrubber and some of my favourite soap.  I enjoy being washed, so feel free to start wherever you like." 

Obi-Wan looked away as he began to undress.  He was surprised that he wasn't more embarrassed, assumed it was the drug that made him forget, for a few moments, that there was anything odd in undressing in front of this stranger.  He removed the outer robe and hung it on a peg on the wall, then unwound the belt sash, draped it over the same peg, and stripped off the twin tunics. 

As he turned he saw that the other man was watching him with relaxed interest; he forced himself not to turn away since it was patently illogical to hide himself.  He sat on the edge of the spa, pulled off his pants and boots and slipped into the tub, grabbing the scrubber and soap as he did.  Toddi edged forward so that Obi-Wan needed to sit with his legs on either side. 

It was similar to what he and Qui-Gon had done once or twice and he let himself remember those loving times as he cleaned the man's back.  It was easy to drift so that he hardly noticed when Toddi turned and his hands were moving over chest and stomach and being curled gently around the other man's cock. 

He focused on the pink, flushed face opposite him, so close to him, as his hands worked around the thickening flesh.  Even though arousal was the last thing he expected, the sight of it, the feel of it, was making him hard and he knew his body was reacting to the drug and it didn't seem to matter. . . 

By the time he was in bed he was asking to be taken, shame lost beneath the waves of hot need.  It wasn't very graceful, there was no laughter and affection as he had known from his lover.  There was just the taking, the grunting entry, the moist, slick sounds of flesh on flesh and the final, sobbing climax.  Once fired, his body kept on demanding the sex until he reached some physical satisfaction or the drug wore off, or both.  They lay bonelessly together and Toddi stroked the damp hair from his face with a shaking hand. 

"Young man, you've quite worn me out.  Why don't you sleep now." 

Those were the last words he heard before sliding gratefully into darkness.  When he woke it was because Foo was tapping him awake to tell him that it was morning, that he needed to go back to his rooms.  Aside from a little soreness he was physically well.  He wrapped himself in the blue robe and followed the droid through the corridors, hardly thinking beyond the moment.  It was what Qui-Gon had always wanted of him -- but not, he thought dully, for such a cause. 

He was allowed to sleep through the morning, and the next one to wake him was, surprisingly, Sharrod, who arrived with a tray of fruit and fresh-baked break, honeybutter and Tea.  He set the tray on the table by the bed as Obi-Wan freshened up.  Elgar was dressed in his usual flamboyant attire, gold shirt and black pants with a wide spangled belt and black boots.  He took a piece of toast and sat down watching Obi-Wan dress. 

"You did well, congratulations.  Toddi was very pleased with you, he left this morning in an absolute glow and gave you a thundering recommendation." 

"I'm overjoyed."  Obi-Wan pulled on his shirt and tucked it into his pants, trying hard not to sound sarcastic and failing miserably.  "Drugged as I was, I would have mated with a rock." 

"Of course.  That's the beauty of it, it removes inhabitations.  But - you tried to get Toddi to take out a message for you, didn't you?" 

Obi-Wan stopped in mid-movement and turned his head.  It seemed pointless to lie, so he didn't, just continued dressing.  Sharrod shrugged and took a drink of juice. 

"Don't misunderstand me, I do realise the temptation to try.  However, that's a strict no-no.  Because you did it, the children won't eat today.  If you do it again, they'll get no food and water.  I won't have my customers disturbed. . ."  He paused as Obi-Wan turned to him slowly, drew backwards as if suddenly aware that, Force or no Force, Obi-Wan was a deadly opponent - and he was unarmed and without his guards. 

But Obi-Wan didn't move forward.  He simply stared down at the man in the chair, his features placid, finding peace in truth. 

"Yes.  I am a Jedi.  I don't strike at the helpless.  I won't let you take that away from me.  Now, if I have any rights at all, I'd like to eat my breakfast in peace.  Alone." 

Sharrod flushed and stood.  He looked as if he was about to speak, and Obi-Wan went to the door and opened it for him.  The older man shrugged and left without another word.  

 

 

Xanatos nodded as his agent completed his report.  "Excellent, Two.  I want you to do a thorough investigation, I am anxious to find out how this Elgar is controlling a Jedi.  In the meantime, I will finish my current business and set course for Beefect within the day."  

He cut the connection and watched the man's image fade.  There was one more thing to organise, another small delivery to make to a certain Jedi Master.  He smiled, feeling very good.  Fate had given him a propitious hand in an intriguing game of chance. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

It took him almost a week's frustrating travel to reach his destination and, at the end of it, he found himself sitting in a dirty tavern trying to make sense of an odd flying alien who seemed as nervous as he was avaricious.

The large Toydarian buzzed in mid-air, his rapid wingbeat sending air tainted with sour body odour into Qui-Gon's face.  Qui-Gon didn't even bother to hide his distaste.  He waited, with diminishing patience, for the alien to stop his rambling speech;  the Jedi disliked the creature he was dealing with, disliked the smelly tavern on the nowhere planet he was forced to wait in to receive some questionable information about Obi-Wan's whereabouts.  He knew from past experience that a Toydarian couldn't be mind-tampered, which was an added frustration.

The alien didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care;  he was too centred on the parcel that Qui-Gon had handed him.  "Excellent!  Fine, good.  Waited a long time for this."  The Toydarian tucked it into his pack and eyed Qui-Gon thoughtfully.  "Neat trick, a Jedi being a courier of this.  How the supplier arranged it I'll never know. Nor want to either."  He chuckled, rubbed his hairy chin with one finger.  "What the noble, pure Jedi think if they know a Master is transporting such things, I wonder? "

Qui-Gon looked into the alien's yellowed eyes, unblinking.  "I was told I would be given information.  I don't require conversation."

"Yes, yes, information."  The Toydarian handed Qui-Gon a data clip.  "Take this you must to . . ."

Qui-Gon pushed the clawed hand aside.  "I said - I wanted information."

The Toydarian backwinged, surprised. "No patience, tall human, that's your problem.  Well, my source said you should go look for a pirate by the name of Shui, Pellara Shui.  She had some dealings with a ship, hijacked it, killed many, maybe captured some.  My principle say, look for this Shui."  He shrugged, his wings fanning fast.  "That's all I know, Jedi."  He handed Qui-Gon the chip then backed away.  "I'm done now with you.  Take it to Peledar, my principle said, deliver it to the head of the Jewellers Guild in the capital city.  More information there."

Qui-Gon stood slowly, unfolding himself.  "Who is your principle?"

The Toydarian backed away rapidly.  "Can't say.  Die if I do. Trust me, Jedi, nothing you can threaten is worse than what this one would do to me and every line of my clan.  I'm off.  Leave me alone."  He swung about, nearly knocking over a droid server carrying a tray of drinks, and sped from the tavern muttering.

Threaten?  Had he threatened?  Qui-Gon clutched the innocuous-seeming datachip in his fist as he stared at the littered floor.  He hadn't considered threats, though it might come to that soon enough.  He'd wondered, during the endless days, just how far he would go on this journey, beyond the simple distance.  _I am Jedi.  I will not let this change me._

Then again, he might not be given the choice.

 

 

Obi-Wan stretched into the backstroke, kicking his way across the pool, ducking and twisting at the wall and pushing away.  He'd swung five lengths of the pool that morning; with no training rooms or equipment, the small indoor pool was the only real form of exercise he could find, other than katas and figure movements.  He'd found the act of swimming somehow therapeutic.  To strip of the clothes they provided, wash away the chemicals they treated him with, throw himself into the water and swim till he was exhausted, was cleansing.  He could sleep the afternoon away then with some hope of doing so without dreams.

His life had taken on an odd sense of repetitive unreality.  He serviced Sharrod's customers in the evening or late afternoon, trained or relaxed in the morning, slept when he could.  After the first couple of days, Elgar had increased his rate to two a day and was considering making it three the following week.  It seemed his Jedi whore was very lucrative.  They liked him, those men and creatures who paid for his body.  Why, he wasn't exactly sure.  He had none of the skills that Shawna had, could exhibit no Jedi marvels.  He thought it might be that he wasn't like the others, that he met them with courtesy, let them use him without complaint and even talked to them when they felt inclined to talk. 

Some - like the big Corellian mercenary of the night before - approached him with the look of someone with payback in mind, undoubtedly for past unhappy Jedi associations.  He hadn't been violent but he'd taken pleasure in forcing Obi-Wan to take what he gave without complaint.  There was no connection, and no understanding.  There was simply flesh and compliance. 

Reaching the wall, he pulled himself up out of the water and sat on the edge, feet dangling in the water.  He wore no bathers, and the one thing he'd gained from the experience of being there was a loss of physical inhibitions.  Nakedness meant nothing to him anymore.  Those strangers touched his body, invaded it a little, but they couldn't touch him where it counted.  Only he could violate his principles. 

As he stared into the clear water he allowed himself his daily moment of maudlin self-pity before wiping it from his mind, following it with the same small prayer he made each day.  _Qui-Gon, lover, find me soon._   He knew, as sure as breath, that Qui-Gon was searching for him.  Some things didn't need to proven.  Only death would stop his love from looking and he would have known if Qui-Gon was dead.  Part of him would have died as well in that moment.

He heard the familiar sound of tracks on tile and turned his head to see Foo cautiously entering the pool area.  The droid apparently had once been tossed into the pool by one of the workers who thought it would be fun to see if the little droid would float and he'd had a dislike of the place ever since.

"Master Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan smiled at the tiny, distraught squeak.  "It's alright Foo, I won't push you in."

"Yes I know that, sir."  The droid ventured closer, its sensor antennae twitching. "I have researched Jedi during my downtime and consider it would not be something one would do.  However I still feel some hesitancy as the tiles are damp and my traction poor.  I have come to remind you that you are scheduled for a massage in one hour, so you might wish to eat now."

"Thanks Foo."  He swung his feet up out of the water, grabbed a robe and towel and headed for the showers and went from there to the dining room for lunch.  On the way, Obi-Wan checked his booking schedule on a computer terminal and studied the single line of text in surprise.  One customer, unnamed, human male.  No sign of later bookings.  That was unusual.  He shrugged and continued on.  He wouldn't be ungrateful about only having to deal with one.

It was a slow afternoon, the weather outside had deteriorated and Obi-Wan spent the afternoon after his massage reading by the window.  Snow drifted across the cityscape, blown in gusts by an irregular wind and the weather probably accounted for the slow day at Farsides.  Even Shawna seemed affected by the vision of cold skies beyond the glass and she joined him in a game of Rash wrapped in white robe made of some soft long-haired fur. 

As she laid out the board, she yawned and covered her mouth.  "Oh, sorry.  Three customers last night and all of them energetic.  I've been given the night off because I complained to Sharrod.  A girl just has to get some rest."  She place the round playing pieces on the board and juggled the stones in the cup.  "How are you handling things, Obi-Wan, coping alright?"

"Well enough, thank you.  Things seem a bit slow today.  I have only one tonight."

"Yes, start of winter, no-one wants to venture outside.  There's a convoy of freighters due into port in a couple of days, so business will pick up then - oh, a red four.  Propitious start."

He became absorbed in the game, fascinated at how more complex such pastimes were when he was denied access to the Force.  Though he'd never actively sought advantage when playing such games, still the Force told him things the same as any other sense.  As his fingers felt the texture of the playing pieces, as his eyes noted the pattern they made on the board, so the flow of the game achieved a more multi-dimensional effect that suggested alternates to him as he played.  It was as if he had always planned a dozen moves ahead before, and now he was reduced to the moves he could work out using only his intelligence and skill.

He saw a pattern emerge that seemed to indicate that Shawna had left a weak spot in her peripheral defences and was about to move a fast piece into it when a shadow obscured the board and a voice spoke from behind him.

"I wouldn't do that.  It's a trick."

"It could be, but. . ."  He stopped suddenly . . . that voice. . . Frozen in mid-move, his hand outstretched, he turned his head and his mouth dropped open as he sucked in a startled breath.

"I remember playing that game with my Master," Xanatos said, with a mild smile curling up his lips.  "He was very good at it, though he didn't approve of my using the Force to predict his moves.  Does he still favour the Wave Strategy?"

The black piece struck the point with a tiny crack, breaking the pattern.  Still smiling, Xanatos held out the small blue booking chip.  "Perhaps we can play a game, you and I.  I like games, but only when I know I'm going to win."

 

There were certain moments that were perfect.  The moment when a competitor admitted defeat, the first taste of the last available bottle of a special vintage.  The moment when Obi-Wan recognised him, and realised why he was there.  It was exquisite.

Obi-Wan stood, knocking the board over, his face closed and angry.  "I won't.  Not with you!"

Xanatos shrugged.  "I suggest you keep your voice down.  If your, ah, employer, were to hear you, I understand that certain innocent parties would suffer.  But it's your choice."

The young man snorted a bitter laugh.  "Choice?  I don't think so." 

The woman with whom Obi-Wan had been playing put her hand on his arm.  "Obi-Wan, if there's trouble, I can call Security."

Xanatos flicked her a glance, exerted his power on her.  "You don't need to call Security.  Everything is fine."

She blinked, frowned.  "I don't - I think. . ."

"Don't bother thinking, my dear, it's not what you're best at, I'm sure."  He held out his hand to Obi-Wan, long fingers extended.  "This young man is mine for the evening, bought and paid for."

He watched Obi-Wan struggle, could almost hear him trying to logic his way out of the box he was in.  It was lovely to behold, that final frustrated acceptance as he stood.  Xanatos watched him move forward with that unwitting Jedi grace and take his hand so unwillingly.  He didn't speak again as Xanatos hooked a hand under his arm in an outwardly friendly move and followed him across the room.

"Remember," he whispered, smiling all the while, "if you decide to throw obligations to the wind and fight me, I can kill ever living thing in this room before they even know they're dead."

They moved in silence through the crowded room, and up into the elevator.  The room Obi-Wan led him to was comfortable and well-appointed and he sat in armchair by the window as the Jedi stood in the middle of the floor.

Xanatos took a few moments to study him.  The normal Jedi robes had been replaced by something a little more exotic, made from some soft silky fabric that clung to Obi-Wan's body and had a subtle sheen in the muted light.  His hair was longer than it had been when he was a Padawan, the thick golden brown mass curled appealingly around his neck.  And his skin; either he'd been out the sun a lot or they tanned it, and he suddenly wanted to see how that slender body looked without its view-blocking clothing.

"I'll have a glass of wine, thank you," he said and after a moment's hesitation Obi-Wan went to the sideboard and poured a glass from the decanter, handing it to Xanatos before stepping back.

"This is insane, you realise that.  Why are you doing this?"

"Why?  How could I possibly resist." He sipped the wine and watched Obi-Wan as he paced backwards and sat in the chair furthest away.  "I hear that some hole-in-the-wall brothel has secured a Jedi, then I find it's you.  The only way it could have been better is if it had been Qui-Gon.  Speaking of tall-and-handsome, how is our beloved ex-Master?"

"Looking me for me, I presume, and hopefully close to finding me."

Xanatos let the flower of jealousy bloom in his heart but not disturb the pattern of his thoughts.  "Oh, I didn't ask where he was, I asked how he was.  I know where he is.  Yes, he's looking for you most diligently." 

He smiled when he saw the concern flicker across Obi-Wan's features.  "Don't worry, I don't plan to have him killed.  Not yet, anyhow.  He's being useful at the moment.  Oh, by the way, if you're wondering about the security system, we are being seen but not heard.  I paid the grasping little man a great deal of money and gave him a little bit of a mind nudge to make him think I had some sort of personal religious belief concerning sex.  So though we will be seen, nothing we say is being recorded."

He watched Obi-Wan struggle for control, watch the tension ease from the grasped, slender fingers.  Grey-green eyes looked up at him at last and he saw, in a flash of understanding, what it was that Qui-Gon valued.  For all that Obi-Wan had seen, experienced, both as Jedi and as a prisoner in this place, he resonated with a kind of innocent brightness that Xanatos knew he'd never had.  Anyone else would have been irrevocably tainted by being forced to whore. _But not Qui-Gon's paragon.  He walks through the mire and is untouched by it._

The Force flowed from the young man like light.  Obi-Wan might not be able to use the Force because of  the clever little chip that the brothel owner had planted in his skull, but he radiated it still and it drew Xanatos, the moth to the flame.  To burn or to consume, he wasn't sure which, but certainly to savour this unexpected gift.

He swallowed the dregs of the wine and stood, pulling off the long  jacket and draping it over the back of the chair.  "Come here, whore." 

Xanatos watched the flush flow across the clear cheeks with pleasure.  Jaw thrust out a little pugnaciously, Obi-Wan stepped closer. 

"That's rather tasteless, isn't it?"

"I know, childish of me, but, ah, the temptation.  Why resist urges when I don't need to?  A little closer please."  Xanatos reached out, snagged the soft fabric of the outer tunic and pulled him nearer.  "I want you to undress me.  Take your time."

With something close to a sigh, the young Jedi began to strip him, undoing the buttons of his shirt, unclipping his belt and hesitating briefly over the pants closure.  Xanatos waited, silent, watching the expressive face as Obi-Wan reached and passed each moment of decision. 

"You still haven't really told me why," Obi-Wan said quietly as he slid the long-sleeved black shirt back.  "Just revenge?"

"Revenge.  No, nothing that simple.  Life is rather like one of those children's toys where you put pieces on top of each other.  Patterns balancing on each other, tipping or not, depending on what you do - or don't do."

He took the hand that hovered over the waistband of his pants and slid the fingertips down over the hard swell of his groin.  He watched Obi-Wan's face all the time, saw the control, the flare of nostrils, and sensed the sudden heating of the young man's body.  They have him drugged up with something, he thought as he felt Obi-Wan's body react.  _Not that I mind.  In fact, it's rather nice._

"And now, what I plan to do is screw my old Master's favoured, and enjoy every moment of it."  He slid his thumbs across Obi-Wan's cheeks, ran his hands down around his throat, felt the pulse leap under the skin.  Bending down, he slid his lips down Obi-Wan's chin and bit his throat as he ripped the tunic's away from the other man's body.

The skin was hot under his hands, his own warming to the nearness of Obi-Wan's physical desire.  He pulled his cock from his pants and held it in one hand as he pushed the Jedi down to his knees.  He said nothing, simply held the back of Obi-Wan's head and watched him close his eyes as his mouth absorbed it, inch by swollen inch.

It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen or felt.  Fighting for control, he found himself panting as the hot, wet mouth worked on him.  He ran his fingers though the thick hair, moving Obi-Wan’s head closer, vaguely surprised at how far the younger man could swallow his length.  His balls finally rested against Obi-Wan’s chin and he simply stood and watched the clever, talented mouth move and suckle on his cock.  “You have a wonderful mouth,” he whispered, resting his hands on Obi-Wan’s cheeks.  “Worth every credit I paid.”

When he finally mounted the body pressed against him he told himself it was what he wanted to do, that he was in charge, and for a time, as he lay in the aftermath of the most staggering sex of his life, he even believed it.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Having been born in a brothel, and raised in a world where death crept out of the night, Sharrod was a light sleeper.  So he woke abruptly to the sense of menace even before the hand touched him. 

"Are you awake Elgar?" 

He gasped and groped for the small blaster he kept under his pillow, but froze as his hand touched nothing but sheet.  His bedside lamp came on and he looked up into a stranger's face.  Blue eyes watched him, unblinking, framed by a fall of dark hair. 

Shock made him stutter, his voice rising.  "Who...who are you.. what do you...?" 

"Sshh.  You'll wake the house.  What I want is for you to listen.  Who I am, is someone very likely to kill you, slowly and very painfully, if you don't.  Are you with me so far?  Just nod." 

Sharrod swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded as hot flashes and chills ran alternately through his body.  He'd known many dangerous creatures in his life and his instincts told him this one was the most dire of all. 

"Good.  Now, you won't find this too hard to understand, I'm sure.  You have a new whore, the young Jedi Knight.  You've managed to snare him and keep him, which is something of a neat trick." 

A pale hand appeared at his throat, holding him down with immense, effortless strength.  Some dark power choked his breath and he struggled vainly.  

"I want two things from you - you will not let him go no matter what he offers or threatens.  And you will not help him by contacting the Jedi or anyone else.  With me so far?  Good." 

The grip on this throat clenched, he writhed in pain and scrabbled at the mattress as he tried to rise - and then the pain and pressure eased and faded. 

"I can do that with a touch, Elgar, I can do it from a distance just as easily.  A man in your business can understand pain.  The worst thing you've ever imagined is a whole level of experience less than what I can do to you." 

The light faded and the figure slipped back into the shadow.  "I'll be watching, Elgar, and I'll be back soon." 

Sharrod lay in his bed, bathed in sweat, his heart thumping so hard he thought he'd have a seizure.  If he'd ever been so frightened before, he couldn't remember it.  

_In the name of all the Gods, what have I got myself into here?_

 

 

When he woke, Xanatos was gone.  There was an indentation in the mattress where he'd lain, the smell of his body, the musky scent of his sex.  Even though he wasn't there, he lingered. 

During the days of his enslavement - and that was how he saw it - Obi-Wan had kept a part of himself untainted by what he'd been forced to endure.  The fact that the people using him were strangers had allowed him to preserve some distance, some pride.  In one night Xanatos had destroyed that illusion.  Xanatos had made it personal. 

He had drifted from day to day, believing in the will of the Force, believing that what happened to him was irrelevant compared to two innocent lives.  There had even been a certain sense of purpose in it that had given him some pride - and his own self-worth had been untouched.  Yet in one night Xanatos had shown him his vulnerability and reduced the armour around his spirit to tissue, easily penetrated. 

Obi-Wan cursed softly, slid from the bed and collected his robe before returning to his rooms to wash.  He stood under the hot water for a long time, soaping and rinsing repeatedly.  While he could wash away the smell of the other man's body, his sweat and the sticky aftermath, his skin still tingled with the memory of those touches.  Touches, and tastes and his own responses.  Drugs or no, bathing or no, his essence persisted on Obi-Wan's flesh.

There was a dark fascination in what they had done.   He'd been forced to do what he would never normally consider - have sex with his lover's greatest enemy.  That was bad enough  - but the worst of it was that some perverse part of him had enjoyed it. 

With the walls closing in on him, Obi-Wan dressed and took the elevator to the roof.  It was the only place he could stand in the open.  The air was ionised, heavy with the smell of a storm boiling up over the horizon and he stood there for an hour as the storm grew and the wind-driven rain drenched him to the skin.  He almost wished one of the lightning bolts would strike him down and remove the choices.  

The rain washed over him, cold and penetrating.  No, he didn't wish to die but he realised how far he'd gone down the wrong road when he considered it for even a moment.  He'd drifted, been acted upon, waiting for Qui-Gon to save him.  Perhaps it was time to do a little acting of his own. ..

 

It was the little droid that found him at last.  It stood under an overhanging roof, complaining loudly.  "Please sir, come inside.  I may short-circuit if I stay out here too long!" 

He looked up into the storm and let the rain wash over his face.  "Where is Elgar?" 

"The Master is in the lounge at this time. " 

Obi-Wan pushed past Foo and ran down the stairs, skidding, almost falling as his wet, bare feet slipped on the steps.  He pushed through into the lounge, past groups of surprised workers, and stopped in front of Sharrod, who was seated in an armchair next to Shawna.  The brothel owner looked up at the dripping Jedi, surprised. 

"Obi-Wan, what in all. . ." 

"Elgar, we have to talk."  He was shivering, partly from cold, but mostly from tension and the need for control.  "You must release me from this, I cannot stay here anymore!" 

Sharrod frowned.  "We've had this discussion before." 

"No!"  Obi-Wan slammed his fist onto the table, ducking down to push his face into Elgar's, making the older man back up against the chair.  "We haven't.  You've just said what you want.  Now I'm telling you what I want.  It was bad enough before, but the man, the one last night, he's no stranger.  He is a threat to me and to everything I care for.  He is my enemy, Elgar, do you understand?  He is a danger not only to me, but to my. . .to someone very special to me." 

"Be calm, Obi-Wan."  Sharrod sat upright, pushing Obi-Wan away even as two security guards began across the room.  "This behaviour will do you no good.  I have my reasons -" 

Obi-Wan stood, ignoring the watching guards, and shook his head with barely-controlled frustration.  "You are a fool, Elgar.  That man is Jedi-trained.  He can move faster that you can imagine.  I could be dead in seconds and he would be gone and there is nothing you could do to stop him, absolutely nothing."  

He looked down in Sharrod's eyes as he calmed his breathing.  "You've never seen a Jedi fight, and this man is Jedi-taught but without our compunctions.  This has stopped being just a matter of money.  You are dealing with very dangerous forces now.  This has to end."  He stood without another word and left, pushing past the watching guards. 

Shawna shook her head and took a sip of her wine.  "You should listen to him, boss.  I was with Obi-Wan when and he's not exaggerating.  That Xanatos is dangerous.  You might have bitten off a bit much on this one." 

Sharrod wiped his mouth and stared off into space, thoughtful.  "More than you know, kitten.  Excuse me." 

Sharrod stood and followed Obi-Wan to the elevator.  He laid one hand on the Jedi's sleeve and watched the bright eyes turn towards him with barely-concealed anger.  

"Obi-Wan, we need to talk.  Come to my office."  

He turned, stopped and looked back.  The young Jedi was standing by the elevator, expressionless.  He sighed.  "Please, come to my office." 

_Prickly, very prickly.  No one mentioned they were so proud_.  Sharrod turned down the corridor and took the private elevator to his office with a silent Obi-Wan beside him.  He opened the door and gestured Obi-Wan to enter, then locked it behind him.  While Obi-Wan stood waiting, Sharrod sat behind his desk and picked up a stylus, twirling it between his fingers.  He looked up finally and sucked in a deep breath. 

"I  know he's dangerous.  He visited me this morning, after he left you.  To issue - instructions.  All wrapped up in threats.  I wasn't to let you go.  I wasn't to help you.  In my own establishment, he threatened me."  He slammed the stylus onto the desk as anger flared up.  "He said. . .well, he said some pretty nasty things.  Amazing how someone can chill your blood and never raise his voice." 

Obi-Wan sat slowly, never taking his eyes from Sharrod's face.  "So you know." 

"Not everything, but I'm getting there.  I know he's a bad man.  And I know that I'm an idiot."

Obi-Wan's serious expression faded as he smiled.  "The first step to enlightenment is -" 

"--  to admit to being an asshole.  Yes, I'm certainly striving for enlightenment here.    What is his name, anyhow?" 

"Xanatos. We have a history, you might say." 

"Alright, Obi-Wan.  Then how about giving me a history lesson.  Tell me about this Xanatos." 

 

The planet Peledar was an enormous crystal covered by a thin layer of topsoil. 

Unique in the galaxy, it provided industry and science with a range of gemstones for many purposes.  Its climate was appalling, its atmosphere thin and its environment virtually poisonous.  Hardly anything grew there and much of its food was hydroponically grown or imported.  Peledar could afford it.  What it didn't have, it bought. 

Peledar's security service was the most paranoid in the galaxy.  They'd ordered a strip search of the new Republican ambassador on one occasion when that august person had arrived.  A full squad of Customs officers had checked out Qui-Gon's transport and it was only through the use of some powerful Force pressure that he'd avoided a body search.  He didn't know what was on the datacrystal he was carrying, but he was fairly sure he didn't want  any Customs personnel to find it. 

All of the habitations on Peledar were enclosed, their utilitarian structures covered by single enormous plexisteel domes that let in sunlight and nothing else.  

The air was recycle, flat and chill.  On Coruscant, at least some things grew, and life scintillated under an open sky.  On Peledar nothing lived beyond the impenetrable dome walls.  As he walked through the streets of the big domed city, Qui-Gon's sense of the Force was muted, numbed by the sterility of the city - but even so, he knew he was being watched. 

He stopped on a street corner to study a map on the side of a building and took the opportunity to scan around him.  There were two men supposedly looking in a shop window and a street cleaner droid working the same patch of path over and over again.  They were all behind him and that gave him the best chance at losing them.  He waited until a street transport passed between him and the watchers, then ducked into the building and moved quickly to the back.  He passed offices and small businesses, ducked around pedestrians and found a back door.  Moving at a run he dodged into a passageway, through into another building and back the way he'd come. 

Doubling back, he left his tail behind and then took a direct route to his destination. 

The business he sought was a discreet establishment selling high quality industrial gems and he was obviously expected; they didn't even bother to scan him for weapons.  An old Pillordian held out one hairy fist and gurgled at him in crude Republican. 

"You have disk for me, yes please?" 

Qui-Gon held the small crystal on his palm as he studied the short, squat alien.  "Yes, I do.  I was told you would give me some information." 

The alien stroked its messy brown hair nervously. "Yes, information.  The one you seek, Pellara Shui, bad human, she has a ship, a raider.  She stops on Kedan now and then for supplies.  Go to Kedan.  That is my message."

 

Qui-Gon passed the crystal over and watched it disappear into the furry fist.  He gave some thought to asking about the chip.  _Do I really want to know?  And does being ignorant make it any less wrong_?  Too close a study of his avoidance brought only a fresh rush of guilt and he turned away, knowing as he did that he would pay in some way for stepping around the things he was doing. 

As he headed for the door he caught sight of a set of crystals sitting in a side display case.  A small nudge of prescience made him stop and study them - they were small, too small for their normal use, but perhaps large enough for another.  He called the sales droid, did the usual haggle, and spent most of his spare credits on one perfect stone. There were no obvious tails following him as he returned to his ship.  Refuelled and resupplied, he set in a course for Kedan and, once offworld, sent a request to Coruscant for information on a criminal by the name of Pellara Shui.  His scruples, his concerns for what it was he'd been carrying, were pushed aside by his growing concern for Obi-Wan.

 

Obi-Wan had told Sharrod as much of the story of Xanatos and his relations with Obi-Wan and the Jedi, leaving out only that part of it relating to Qui-Gon.  When he had given the brothel owner a better understanding of the situation,  he tapped the back of his head.  "Can you take this out?  Cut off from the Force, I'm at a serious disadvantage." 

While the brothel owner was worried about Xanatos, he was obviously not quite ready to trust Obi-Wan.  "No, I can't.  I'm sorry, but I've already got one Force user wandering around here threatening me, I'd rather not have two."  He hesitated, clearly unsure.  "I need to know what my options are here.  While I might be feeling a bit put-upon right now, perhaps doing what he says is my best option." 

"Yes.  It might be.  If you don't mind watching while he kills me, and anyone else who gets in his way - because, if you have ever believed anything, Sharrod, believe this - he WILL try to kill me eventually.  He's tried before and we've beaten him every time.  He won't let me live if he has me in a position where I can't strike back.  Can you live with that?" 

Sharrod shook his head and smiled slightly.  "Jedi - how can creatures who are so powerful be so naive!  You're placing a lot of dependence on my honour, like assuming I have any.  I'm not personally over-equipped with it, but I do have something of a conscience.  No, I can't let him kill you.  But I can't let you destroy me either.  You see my quandary."  Sharrod poured himself a cup of tea and then a second for Obi-Wan.  "Now, we have to decide what to do about this man.  What reason does he have for these visits, beyond the, ah, obvious?" 

Obi-Wan frowned as bent his head to sip his tea.  "I don't know him very well, though I do know some of the things that drive him.  I believe he is doing this for revenge, both on me and on...someone else important to both of us."  He had never mentioned Qui-Gon, not wanting Elgar to have any more information about his life than absolutely necessary.  "If you believe he is monitoring your calls, is there any way you can get someone to go outside and make a call to Coruscant for you?" 

Sharrod shook his head.  "He'd be expecting that.  I can't take that chance."  He swirled the spoon in the cup and looked up at Obi-Wan, thoughtful.  "I may not be a military genius, but I've lived and worked on the shady side of things all my life and I've learned a few things.  I know you have to plan, not let your emotions get the better of you, and keep your enemy off-balance.  You want to leave here, with the children and yourself relatively intact.  I want my business the same way, with no Jedi coming knocking on my door to haul me away to prison.  At the moment the most logical course - for me personally - is to swallow my pride and do what this Xanatos says.  I'm not set up to take on the kind of criminal you say he is, especially if he's able to use the Force like a Jedi." 

Elgar shrugged.  "I know you think I'm a heartless bastard, but I'm in a bind here." 

"If you hadn't purchased me from that evil woman and forced me to stay here. . ."  Obi-Wan interrupted angrily, to be interrupted again by a surprisingly cool Sharrod. 

"If I hadn't, you'd be dead.  So working here these last few weeks hasn't been the high point of your life.  You're alive, which you wouldn't be if I hadn't bought you.  You might want to keep that in mind." 

Obi-Wan shook his head, amused in spite of the situation.  "Sharrod, that would be all well and good if only I didn't know you bought me for the profit of it.  If you'd let me go when I first asked, none of this would be happening." 

Sharrod sucked in a deep breath and sat back, expelling it loudly.  "I was hoping you wouldn't point that out.  Well, I can't change the past, but I have to defend myself as best I can.  If I do what this Xanatos says, what happens?" 

Obi-Wan considered the matter, eyes unfocused as he tried to assess the flow of the future.  "He will eventually probably kill me, or use me to hurt someone else, someone very important.  The likelihood of my surviving, as things stand, is slim.  I have no weapons, I have this damned Force chip in my head and no-one knows where I am."  His frustration built in spite of his control, in spite of logic.  "At least let me defend myself then - I need something,  Sharrod.  I can't help you and I can't help myself like this." 

Sharrod pursed his lips in thought, then nodded.  He took a keycoder from his pocket and tapped it to the seal of the drawer on his desk.  The drawer slid open, he reached inside and pulled out a familiar object. 

It was Obi-Wan's lightsaber.  Sharrod hesitated for a moment, then held it out.  "It's not a blaster and I don't suppose you'll be wanting to cut anyone up with it." 

Obi-Wan closed his hand around the familiar shape with a rush of pleasure.  He flipped the control and the blue blade sprang to life.  The sight of it filled him with a new sense of optimism.  He switched it off and nodded. 

"Thank you." 

"It doesn't answer the big question, does it?" Sharrod said, as he watched Obi-Wan slide the silver cylinder through his fingers.  

"No, it doesn't."  Obi-Wan turned to go, and stopped at the door.  "But remember this - if you have put me into a position where I lose the person as dear to me as life in order, to protect those children from harm, I will not rest until I see you punished, if it takes all my life."  He hoped, as he turned away, that it was just concern, the stress of the moment, and not foreseeing. 


	6. Chapter 6

The crystal didn't quite fit the holding grips and no matter how carefully he worked, it kept tipping sideways before he could seal the clamps.  After half a dozen attempts, Qui-Gon sat back and breathed in deeply through his nose, fighting down the annoyance and frustration.

_I should be able to do this.  How many times have I given instruction in the setting of stones, how many times have I set the stones myself?  What is the matter with me?_

He set the pieces down on the table and looked down at his hands.  They seemed steady enough; he held them up, the fingers out straight, palm-down, and looked at them again.  Yes. . .no, there, a slight quiver.  Superficially he was calm, but inside there were bundles of tension, pockets of distress and concern that ate at his spirit like a cancer.  How many times had he told student Jedi, you cannot set or calibrate the crystal without being in perfect communion with the Force.  And how could he create something so delicate when he couldn't even keep his hands from shaking?

He needed it to stop, the fear for Obi-Wan, always there, every moment of every day. 

Qui-Gon stood and went over to the window, tried to open it and saw the latch was rusted shut.  He gripped the handle, annoyed, was about to shove it when he realised what he was doing. . .  Turning back to the table, he collected the small bottle of frictioneeze and poured a tiny part onto the latch mechanism.  With a little gentle movement of each handle, the window opened with only the slightest squeak.

Why break what you can fix?  Why force what you can persuade?  It was the little things that coloured the spirit and set you on your path through life.

He stood in the open window looking up at the stormy sky.  Another unpleasant city on a dirty rim world, a stop on the way in his search for someone called Pellara Shui.  For all he knew, Obi-Wan could be on the other side of the galaxy from where he stood.  All he had to go on was his gut instinct, which kept pulling him on.  That, and stubborn optimism.

The thought of Obi-Wan brought back their last night together before his lover had left on his first mission .   He'd been excited -- which for Obi-Wan meant that he sometimes didn't finish a sentence he started,  he smiled more frequently, flashes of that impish grin that he rarely showed to anyone, and he would check things he'd already checked because his mind was popping from one thing to another.  Normally such a composed person, he expressed excitement in a sort of controlled fizz.  Qui-Gon loved to watch him in such a mood, endearingly himself, the human within the Jedi Knight. 

His first mission as a Knight meant his first mission away from Qui-Gon as a Knight.  He'd known it was coming, of course, and was proud of the ultimate results of his dedication and love.  He'd waved to Obi-Wan as he strode up the ramp and watched the Order's newest Knight-Investigator board his transport and lift away with no more than natural concern for a loved one heading into danger.  Hindsight, he thought wistfully, was a wonderful thing.

And just what does he see in me to love, he wondered as he rested his hands on the rust-scoured balcony rail.  It was easy enough to list reasons why he loved Obi-Wan,  that smile, those changeable eyes, the liquid-velvet sound of his voice that went throaty and deep when he whispered and gasped as they made love. . .  But why such a one would love him was sometimes a cause of mild puzzlement.  _There is no such thing as luck, that's what my old Master would say.  Then it must be the will of the Force._

Qui-Gon gathered the memories and the love and let them seep through him as the Force flooded into him like sunlight.  When everything else failed, he still had faith.  In himself, in Obi-Wan, in the Force.

He turned back to the table and began his work again.  This time the crystal slid into the clamps on the first attempt and he took it as an omen that finally,  things were starting to come together.

 

 

She sat with her security team, with her back to the wall, and drank only enough for pleasure, never enough to dim her mind.  She'd earned one or two scars by trusting the wrong person, and it wasn't something she did much of anymore.  Even her team she trusted only so far, as far as their greed and fear carried them. 

The Golden Hound was her favourite tavern.  It sold good brews, provided the kind of entertainment she fancied and didn't allow any interference by the local policing forces.  They paid all the right people all the right bribes.  Some interesting characters visited the Golden Hound and it was a fine source of information, among other things.

She watched the crowd and her eyes lighted on one figure.  She'd seen him come in earlier and he'd caught her attention.  Tall and slender, around her own age, clean-shaven with long berylnut-coloured hair tied back in a single braid.  He was wearing dark pants and knee-high boots - real leather, by the look of them - and a cream shirt tucked into his pants over a tan vest.  A big serviceable blaster hung on his hip and when he turned she saw that his shirt was open mid-chest, revealing and tantalising.  She very much liked the look of him.

As if sensing her interest, he turned towards her.  She smiled and tipped her head slightly and he responded with a very slight smile before turning back to the bar.

Yes, she was definitely interested.  Pellara Shui turned to her senior guard.  "See the tall fellow by the bay, Og?"

The big Gorgundian looked, his eyes dilating in the dim light.  "Human male, middle aged, wearing a Haastard-Val Type 3D blaster?"

"That's him.  Go tell, ah, ask him to join me.  Politely, Og, don't make it sound like an offer of battle this time."

The big reptile sauntered off and approached the smaller human politely.  The man looked up into the scaled face and Shui was rather pleased to see he didn't flinch when faced by a head almost as large as his torso equipped with a double row of  large sharp teeth.  Gorgundians spoke through a special extra set of nostrils that left their big mouth free for other things, like biting.  They only opened their mouths to eat and to fight.

The stranger turned to look at her, seemed to consider the request for a moment, then nodded, and followed Og across to the table.  She watched him, admiring his graceful walk, the calm assurance of him.  When he was close she saw that his eyes were blue and very sharp.

He looked like a warrior.  His stance wasn't threatening in any way, but he stood balanced on his feet, ready for fight or flight, and he'd slid his thumbs behind his belt in a relaxed but prepared manner.  She looked up the tall, hard body appreciatively and met his amused, intelligent glance.  Oh yes, very nice indeed.

Pellara tipped her head towards the empty seat.  "Care to join me?"

He smiled and it lit his eyes in a way that stirred feelings she'd almost forgotten about.  A glance at that determined chin reminded her that no matter how pretty they smiled, men were invariably men and just not to be trusted.  Used, certainly, but not trusted.

She watched him slide gracefully into the seat and angle it so that he could view the door and the room without taking his eyes away from her.  Smart, as well as attractive.

"Thank you. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Yes.  I'll have a beer.  Or two."

They drank their beers and played the little word game where they each tried to find out about the other without actually digging.  Zim, which was the only name he'd give, was very good at it, even managing not to be rude at not answering her questions.  She certainly liked everything she saw and sensed, and she wondered how good he was in bed.  Perhaps, if the Goddess was smiling on her, she'd find out that night.

Qui-Gon had known it wouldn't be easy, and it wasn't.  Stick to being a Jedi, Qui-Gon, he thought, don't take up acting.  It's too damned hard being someone else.  There were too many things to remember: remember not to take anything for granted, especially truth.  He rather suspected that truth was something Pellara Shui rationed out in very tiny portions.

Whatever he was doing, though, it seemed the right combination.  She had that particular hungry look that he had seen now and then in his life, though rarely directed at him.  People tended not to think of Jedi that way.  As he sat next to a woman who repulsed him in every way, whose very essence radiated darkness, Qui-Gon wondered for the hundredth time who was dragging him along the painful and humiliating trek he was engaged in.  A Jedi might earn a fair number of enemies in an active life serving the Force, yet the ongoing, tortuous trail in search of Obi-Wan seemed vindictive in its pacing.  Someone hated him, certainly, but it was a someone with a twisted sense of vengeance.

It was a test of his patience, of his resilience and of his faith in the Force.  If he was to find Obi-Wan, he needed to stay cool so as to be able to hear what the Force might tell him.  Anger obliterated that whispered sense of purpose, was self-defeating.  Still, it was difficult to not let the frustration grow.

Especially when a murderous witch insisted on stroking his leg and fondling other parts of him in a way he presumed she considered pleasant.  How he managed to stop himself from pushing her away he didn't know.  _I have more patience than I thought.  In the language of my youth, she gives me the heebies._

She was obviously interested in him, and had seemed to be ready to make her intentions known when she'd stepped away to take a call on her commlink in private.  As he watched her, he knew that he would do whatever it took to earn her confidence, to find out what she knew.  Whatever it took.  He was weary of prevarication.

Carrying another glass of the same noxious brew, she sauntered back to the alcove and slid down next to him.

"So," she said, taking a mouthful of her drink, "just what is it you're after, anyhow?"

"What makes you think I'm 'after' anything?"

"Come on now, no one comes here for their health.  It's not the sort of place you visit for the view."

He took her glass and swallowed a mouthful, hoping it wasn't as noxious as it tasted.  "Then I must fit the pattern.  I heard that you had a run in not too long ago with a ship carrying - among other things - one young Jedi Knight.  I thought it might be the one I was interested in, so here I am."

She stretched back in her seat, crossed one booted leg over the other and rested a hand on his nearer thigh.  "Really?  Well, as it happens we did deal with one not long ago.  The little dog was more bark than bite.  He ended up giving my crew some fun while we had him in activities I doubt they train for."  She chuckled, took another drink.  "Though that Jedi training did come in for something - the boys did tell me after that he didn't scream even when the Taurians forked him."

A cold nauseous bundle of emotions - pain, fury, misery - boiled into Qui-Gon's stomach as he sat very still, staring at her. 

"I see." 

Reality narrowed to a dark tunnel but he noted absently that his body was rock-still, like the heart of a storm.  He didn't move, couldn't move.  If he did, he thought he might kill her.

"Did you kill him?" 

"Gods, no.  No profit in that.  I sold him to a brothel.  As long as he's been there now, he's been literally working his ass off."  She laughed, and her crew laughed with her.  "I saw the Circuit promotion and I hear he's real popular too, earning that creep whore master a whole mass of credits.  Can only imagine what he's charging to mount a genuine piece of Jedi ass."

"I can imagine it would."  He wasn't quite sure what he was saying, only that there was an enormous pressure in his chest that made it difficult to think, or speak.  "Where would that be, exactly?"

"Exactly?"  She smiled, and reached down to scratch her leg.  "You talk so nicely, Zim, so well-bred."  Her hand touched his thigh again, and she squeezed him.  "Why don't you join me for dinner and maybe afterwards we can see what you can do for me and what I can do for you."

 

Qui-Gon stood under the warm shower and washed himself slowly, with care, and tried not to think of what it was he was trying to wash away.  The reek of her perfume, the mingled odour of sex and stale perspiration - or the taint, the invisible impression of where they'd touched, of how he'd - -

He shook his head, sending sprays of water outwards against the wall from the long, soaking mass of his hair.  She'd been inventive, demanding, forcing him to perform, and he'd had to perform, had to make it seem that his time with her had been good - when in fact it had taken all of his body control to generate the required erection.  The sight and smell and feel of her had wiped away any natural inclination towards arousal.  She had repulsed him - it had been like touching the Darkness.

Of all the things he thought he might have to do, having sex with an immoral creature like Pellara Shui hadn't even been on the game grid.  He wondered, as he twisted his hair and let it drop behind him, if he would have been able to carry off the charade.

If it weren't for who - and what - he was. . .

_So, my Obi, we have both been forced to allow violations._

He stiffened as the shower screen opened and the woman stepped into the cubicle.  Her arms slid around his stomach as she sucked noisily at his shoulder blade.

"I've decided to take you with me," she said, licking at his skin.  "We'll go and find that Jedi and see how he's taken to whoring and perhaps we can both play with him a little.  Would you like that?"

He nodded slowly, watching the water slide down over both their flesh.  "Yes.  Yes, I would like that very much."

 

 

Obi-Wan was sitting on the roof, looking up at the city skyline in an unfocused haze of concern when Shawna joined him.  She pulled up an old plastic lounging chair and sat next to him.

"Did you know," she said in a relaxed conversational tone, "that the sensors up here are old and in need of replacement?  If we talk very quietly, its unlikely anyone can hear what we say and the only working camera is behind us, so they can't read out lips."

Obi-Wan put down the bookfile he'd beem reading and looked across at the young woman.  "I didn't know, but I do now.  What's going on in that cunning mind, beautiful girl?"

She laughed, unconsciously flushing.  "Such a sweety you are!  What I don't know about this place isn't worth knowing, and I've sometimes come up here for private talks about one thing or another.  What are you reading, anyhow?" she asked, in an odd shift of subject, as she reached over to pick up the reader.  "Oh, historical novels, how dry.  Now, if you have a look at this," she said, smiling easily and handing the pad back, "you'll find it a lot more interesting."

He slid the reader cover open a little and saw a data crystal resting inside.  His eyes flicked up to hers, eyebrows raised. 

"It's the address where those two children are being held, the ones Sharrod has that he's using to pressure you with.  They're both healthy and safe and I have to tell you this - there is no way in a galaxy of many fortunes that Sharrod would hurt them.  He's bluffing you on that one, knowing you can't take the chance, but he wouldn't hurt them.  He might be a hustler and a crook but he'd never harm a helpless child."  She smiled at him, sensing his lightened mood.  "Does that help?"

Obi-Wan nodded, feeling many of the tensions inside melt away.  "Yes, thank you.  Do me one other favour, Shawna - if anything happens to me, make sure that the Jedi know about them, so they can be returned to their family.  They don't deserve to be abandoned here."

She nodded and patted his leg.  "I can do that."  She sat back and tucked one silk-clad leg over the other.  "So, have you worked out what you are going to do about this Xanatos man?"

"No.  The fact remains that without access to the Force. . ."

"Wait."  She interrupted him again, gently but firmly.  "I know you are a Jedi, I know that you have amazing abilities - but is that all you are?  You're a man, healthy and strong, with lots of training I know nothing about but you have to be more than just the Force and a fancy laser sword.  How about this," she said, reaching over to tap him on the forehead.  "That still works, chip or no, and it works pretty good most times, I'm guessing.  Start using it now."

Obi-Wan smiled and took her hand in his.  "Of all the people I've met here these last weeks, the one I don't regret meeting is you."

Shawna chuckled and flushed, dropping her eyes in embarrassed amusement.  "You say the nicest things.  Oh, " she stopped and snapped her fingers.  "I almost forgot."  She dug into the pocket of her loose pants and held out a small vial.  "I've had one or two customers who were a little difficult and I slipped a few drops of this into their drinks.  It makes them susceptible to instructions.  It doesn't last long, but if you use the full vial, your nasty Xanatos will probably stand on his head for you.  If you manage to persuade him to take you out of Farsides, and can get this into his wine, you can keep him docile for a little while.  But long enough to take control, if you're clever and quick.  Which I think you are."

"You're amazing.  Thank you hardly seems enough."  He dropped the vial into his pocket and kissed her hand.  "Well, I'd better get ready.  As you rightly pointed out, I am a Jedi even without the Force.  I have my training, and I also have a whole set of new, ah, skills, that I've learned here."  Obi-Wan stood, looked down at her expectant face and laughed.  "I'm an well-trained whore - I think it's time I put some of that training to good use. Want to help me get ready?"

 

It was the end of another day and Shawna had found an empty sofa in a corner of the Common Room and sat curled up in a pool of late afternoon sun with her Mool on her lap.  As she ran her hands across the small animals warm hide it sang to her, its beautiful voice modulating in patterns affected by the motion of her hands. Its sweet voice suddenly took on a sharp tone and she saw that someone was standing in front of her.  A tall man, slender, wearing black and wine red velvet, a cream silk shirt open at the throat, pale skin. . .she looked up and her hands stilled.  It was Obi-Wan's nemesis.

"Don't stop," he said softly, "that's quite nice."

Her hands twitched but she couldn't, for the life of her, think of something clever to say.  He smiled and bent to run one long-fingered hand across the Mool's warm skin and the animal whined in distress.  His fingers strayed, stroked her arm and moved up towards her face.  Shawna tried to move back but an invisible grip held her still as his fingers traced a line across her lips.

"Someday I might spend some time with you, little bird, and find out if you sing nicely when stroked."  He stood straight and the ghostly grip vanished.  "Is my whore ready?"

She frowned, seeing the bright malicious light in his blue eyes.  "I suppose he is, if you have a booking."

"I do indeed.  I'd best be off to see him then.  And perhaps I'll talk to Elgar about spending a night with you, my dear."  He touched her hair briefly and turned away.  She watched him leave, a darkly dangerous figure, and absently licked her lips, tasting him. 

She stroked the agitated Mool, soothing it.  "Obi-Wan, I'm beginning to understand."

 

He walked into the rooms and paused to look about, wary as always, suspicious as always.  Years of living on the edge had taught him to rely on instinct, and his instincts were very sharp. It had been over a week since his first visit and at the end of each day of that week he had thought to himself, there, another day that I stayed away.  When he realised what he was doing, he sent in his reservation to Farsides for Kenobi and submerged himself in an exceptionally risky venture.  Anything not to think about that which shouldn't be bothering him.  Yes, bothering.  It was a good enough word.  A better word than fixation.

Xanatos was no novice to sex.  He'd indulged in it frequently, tasted every exotic experience from one side of the galaxy to the other.  None of those expensive, experienced or bizarre acts had given him anything like the buzz he'd had from screwing Qui-Gon's lover.  He recognised the attraction of that, yet there was more to his desire to return than that.  There had been something in Obi-Wan's eyes, something in the body that had quivered and cried under his touch, that made him hot each time he remembered it.  Fact was, Obi-Wan was a special piece of work and had pushed all of Xanatos' erotic buttons.

So he'd come back as much for confirmation as anything - to see if that exquisite passion would be there again. 

_Perhaps I need to see he's just flesh and not a glamour that tipped me off my perfectly balanced pedestal._

It was a different suite from the previous visit, more open, far better decorated.  Intricate brass candelabras hung from the ceiling, swinging lightly in the breeze coming through the full-length windows.  A burner of aromatic oil scented the air with Shenelly Musk and a clever little fountain set in the wall trickled water out of a statue formed in the face of some androgynus elf.  Done in shades of woodochre, gold and butter, it could be a part of some fairly nice home. 

There was a prepared supper on a side table and wine in a cooler, but no sign of Obi-Wan.  He looked towards the open door and knew he was there, outside.  What was he feeling?  Dread?  Anticipation?  He was difficult to read, was Qui-Gon's lover.  He'd absorbed his Master's lessons well, and somehow managed to maintain that Jedi philosophy of balance, even after weeks of sexual servitude.  Anyone else would have been tainted or twisted or dead.  He endured.  As he walked out onto the balcony, Xanatos saw Obi-Wan outlined in the colours of twilight, as beautiful as some statue made of living flesh.

_...endured and prospered - though I doubt he'd agree with me there_

Obi-Wan looked sad.  Yes, sad, there was no other word for it.  While such a robust Jedi Knight could rarely seem fragile, he did look somehow lost.

A fully paid-up member of the Missing Qui-Gon Club, Xanatos thought wryly, knowing where the other man's thoughts were.  Missing him, wanting him with an ache like hunger, a hunger in the chest, an addiction at the back of the throat.  _Been there, felt that.  Well, perhaps I can take his mind off absentee lovers, and perhaps he can do the same for me._

As Obi-Wan turned to him silently, Xanatos caught the flash of longing, quickly hidden as the younger man wiped all expression.  He moved closer, breathing in the clean scent of him, the warm, familiar Force essence, and watched the tracer-swift movement of emotions flicker in Obi-Wan's eyes.

"A credit for your thoughts," he said softly.

The young Knight smiled slightly.  "At my hourly charge, that would be more like...ah, ten credits.  I was thinking that I'd hoped you wouldn't come back."

His grip tightened around Obi-Wan's arms.  "Little liar.  You were thinking that you hoped I would.  And not very happy about thinking it, either. Isn't that true, Obi-Wan?  Weren't you wanting me to come back so you could see if all that pleasure was just the drugs?"  

He was too expressionless, too contained.  "You cannot make me be other than I am, Xanatos."

"Can I not?  You really shouldn't issue challenges like that, I thought you knew me better."  Xanatos released his grip and went to the sideboard, poured himself a glass of wine and turned to rest his back against the board.  "Undress for me.  Slowly."

He sipped his wine as Obi-Wan hesitated, then obeyed.  Unwillingly, of course, but that was part of the savour.  Xanatos tasted the bitter-sweet grape as the silken fabric slid down over Obi-Wan's arms, swallowed it back over his palate as those capable fingers undid sash and tie.  He licked the last drop of it from his lips as Obi-Wan stood finally, arms by his side, in a pool of cream fabric, the rings on his nipples shining against his skin.

Xanatos put the glass down and walked over to Obi-Wan, reached out and tugged gently on one of the gold rings.  "Did it hurt, the piercing?"

"Yes, of course it did."

He smiled, tugged them both, watched Obi-Wan's pupils dilate at the sensation.  He thought, I must have this done, to feel it, how the pain must go right through you.  He undressed himself a little clumsily, one handed as he held and tugged at one ring, then another and finally bent, naked and already erect, to take one ringed nipple into his mouth. There was so much to touch; he let his fingers wander down, fingertips pressing against ribs, sliding around Obi-Wan's waist to the full swell of his ass.  His skin was satiny-smooth, hairless and oiled; he tasted and smelled and felt exotic and erotically warm.

Obi-Wan began to pull back, to make the first move in the dance of Useless Resistance that his nature required him to make.  It took little effort to subdue a Jedi without access to the Force.  It took even less to subdue a young man whose mind said go one way as his libido was going the other.

"It's not just the drugs, is it, Obi-Wan?"  He bent his head, closed his eyes and took a deep sniffing breath, his mouth open to better taste Obi-Wan's skin as he felt the twist of negation in the proud head.  "Self-deception is a form of lie, Jedi.  You can lie to me and call it appropriate.  Doesn't make it true, though."

"I do not. .." The fine voice quivered.  "Lie.  It is the drugs.  It is.  It is..."

"Uhuh."  Xanatos licked the skin around one swollen nipple tasting of sweat and gold.  Hands slid behind him, hesitant, but perhaps not entirely unwilling.  Obi-Wan was a bundle of suppressed desire, he vibrated like prey in the spotlight.  He held still when he wanted to run because there was nowhere - no-one -  to run to.  _Except to me.  Familiar, hated Xanatos, who knows his body, who can touch him and fulfil him and do things to him that maybe a more staid, older lover doesn't or won't._

"The wine is good.  Would you like a glass?"

"No.  No.  I never - never got the taste for alcohol."

"Yes, without vice.  Unlike me."  He straightened, took Obi-Wan's hand.  "Come and share my vices, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan moved through the dim light and slid down onto the edge of the bed as Xanatos lay stretched out on his back.  He sat there, motionless, until Xanatos moved to pull him down to lay alongside him on his stomach

"Have you ever been rimmed?" he asked, as he ran one hand over the smooth ass.  Obi-Wan's reply was muffled in the bedding. "I'll take that as a no."  He chuckled as he gently slid his fingers into the warm space between the two ass cheeks, stroking the opening to Obi-Wan's body.  "That whoremaster thinks of everything. . .worth every credit."  Before Obi-Wan could react, Xanatos bent down and slowly ran his tongue down across the clenched opening and smiled at the sudden squirming.   "I'm told," he whispered, "that I have a very good . . .mouth. . ."

He licked again as Obi-Wan gasped and pressed his mouth further down to Obi-Wan's body with intimate pleasure.  He was clean, smelling and tasting only of perspiration and the oils and creams used on his body in preparation.  Closing his eyes, Xanatos worked the puckered muscle, pushing his tongue inside, feeling the body buck beneath him with each plunge of his tongue, with each sucking pressure of his mouth.

"Gods. . .!"  Obi-Wan gasped, pushing back against Xanatos.  "That's. . .that's. . ."

"What is it, whore?  Tell me."  He laughed, tasted Obi-Wan's stress in the sweet and musky heat of his sweat.  "Is it good?  Did Qui-Gon never do this for you, never taste your hole like this, never fuck you with his tongue?  How unkind."  He bent again, pushed in deeper, sucked strongly, as finally the only sound was the sucking of his lips and Obi-Wan's choked breathing.  "That's good, that's so good - -"

Obi-Wan slid up to his knees at a touch to his hips, opening himself to the hot mouth and tongue as Xanatos moved one hand beneath the parted thighs to gather his genitals.  The balls were smooth, hairless and they twitched as his fingers gently wrapped around them.  The exquisite power of holding Obi-Wan Kenobi in such complete thrall aroused him more than he thought possible and he pulled away to twist the younger man over onto his back.  Surprising even himself, he bent forward to take Obi-Wan's rigid cock into his mouth.  He held on, with the almost gentle pressure of his teeth, as Obi-Wan cried out in shocked pleasure.

Fingers and thumbs working at the saliva-moistened ass, Xanatos worked Obi-Wan to a groaning climax, then Xanatos crawled up him, rubbing himself across the shivering  belly.   He pulled Obi-Wan's legs up over his shoulders, working his groin against the firm ass, spearing him as he grabbed the younger man's head.  As he bent his head, Obi-Wan twisted his head aside, hissing.

"No!"

"Yes."  He watched anger flare in the wide eyes and paused, his cock half-buried, dominating the body beneath him.  "You don't want me to kiss you?  I can fuck you but not kiss you?  Why?"  Pulling Obi-Wan's head up, he looked down into the wide jade green eyes and saw the shadow of pain there.  Why?  "Because. . .oh yes, I see.  It's him, isn't it?  You've only kissed Qui-Gon.  Nobody else wanted to kiss a whore, just fuck.  Well, I'm not just nobody, my precious young Knight.  I want everything of his."

As Obi-Wan began to struggle, to buck and twist, Xanatos held on and ravaged his mouth.  Obi-Wan moaned and tried to bite, squirmed and shivered and it was so good he thought he was on fire with the pleasure of it.  The feel of that strong, sweet body stretched out beneath him, its strength contained, bent to his will, was like some erotic sexual elixir.  He thrust forward savagely, burying his length into the slick, warm arse, slamming in and out, grunting with each deep ownership.  Obi-Wan moaned as the blunt head of Xanatos’ cock struck his prostate, sending waves of pleasure shooting through him.  “I could do this forever,” he gasped, speeding up his thrusts, “and only…having Qui-Gon watching me fuck you…would be better…Gods, yes, so good…”  He rutted in the body beneath him, flushed and hot and finally spilled his seed into the shivering body.  That ultimate degrading possession was an exquisite retribution.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Qui-Gon had never been so tired.  He felt stretched, as if all the matter in his body had been wrung, squeezing all the life and energy from him.  Somehow he walked, drew strength and optimism and hope to put one foot before the other.  It was as if the years had suddenly caught up with him to show him mortality eventually asks its price, even of Jedi.  There was no time to rest, though, and every need to be watchful. He was in very dangerous company. 

There was no opportunity, between Shui's ship arriving at the spaceport and their departure into the city, for Qui-Gon to separate himself from the party and make a break for freedom.  It seemed that wherever he went, one or more of her people always had him in sight, and the constant observation unnerved him.  He couldn't tell if it was natural suspicion or something more dangerous.  It was certainly inconvenient. 

The city - the name of which he'd noted and forgotten - was a typical mixture of modern technology and squalid poverty.  Outer rim worlds had often been cut off from the mainstream of galactic civilization due to wars or simple forgetfulness on the part of the Republic.  A planet with a barely habitable ecosystem, few useful natural resources and a basically poor population added little to the whole.  Among thousands of worlds, they were the forgotten places at the edge of nowhere. 

There were modern forms of transport, aircars and the like, but Pellara ignored them and headed off on foot into the town.  Six of her troops went with her, making a wedge through the pedestrians on the street levels, shoving people aside without concern.  Qui-Gon walked behind her, his anticipation growing.  

He was here.  Somewhere hereabouts, somewhere amongst these untidy, worn streets and weary buildings, was Obi-Wan.  At last.  So close. It wasn't purely optimism, he knew it in some primal way.  Close, alive, holding on, fighting in whatever way was open for him to survive and be free.  His Obi-Wan, always his Obi-Wan, irregardless of what had been done to him.  That much he knew as certainly as he knew his own heart. 

When it seemed they would walk all the night away, Shui finally stopped at a nondescript door in the face of a three storey cream and grey stone wall.  She ordered her men to stand away from the door and pressed her palm to the doorplate. 

A droid voice responded to her signal.  "May I help you?" 

"I'm Pellara Shui, friend of Elgar's.  Let me in." 

"Do you have an appointment?" the voice asked politely, and Qui-Gon saw Shui flush as her slight patience ran out. 

"No, I don't have a fucking appointment!  Let me in right now or I'll. . ." 

Qui-Gon stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm.  If she kept on that way, they wouldn't get in at all.  "We are here to see Elgar on a matter of business, the business of your establishment.  May we come in?" 

There was a moment or two of buzzing as the droid considered the question, then the door clicked.  "Very well, sir, please make your way into the foyer, where a. . ." 

Shui ignored the droid, pushing the door open and holding it for her men to enter.  The droid began to whine in alarm and she pulled out a blaster and aimed at the little droid sitting on a shelf near the door.  "Shut the fuck up or I'll blast your damned metal innards through the wall!" 

The troops, with Shui in the lead, surged through the foyer and into a large, bright open area.  A dozen individuals in various stages of undress looked up at their entry, and everyone present froze at the sight of the armed party.  Pellara stepped forward,  her cold eyes sweeping the room. 

"Get me Elgar.  Now!" 

A young man draped in filmy fabric stood hesitantly, then hurried from the room.  Seconds later a side door opened and a lovely young woman stepped through.  Qui-Gon heard the raiders stir around him, for the single piece of gold fabric draped around her beautiful body was almost totally revealing.  She seemed more concerned with their presence than her semi-nudity, and walked briskly towards Pellara. 

"Pellara, you're frightening the customers." 

Pellara stopped, rested her hands on the ammunition belt around her hips and eyed the girl from her toes to her head and down again.  "I guess you don't do that too much, frighten them, that is.  Where's Elgar?" 

"He's away, if you'd like to come back . ." 

"No, I don't have time. I want to see that young Jedi I sold him.  My man here," she said, indicating Qui-Gon, "and I want to have a look at him." 

"He's with a customer right now, Pellara.  You can't. . ."  

Shui moved forward a step and, before the girl could back away, grabbed her arm tight.  The young woman winced and tried to pull back and Shui shook her.  "What room, whore?  Or by the gods I'll reduce your customers by a few head, here and now." 

Qui-Gon watched the interplay, flexing his fingers, knowing he would have to move if the woman tried to carry out her threat.  He couldn't stand there while people died without moving to protect them, not even for Obi-Wan's sake.  Then the young prostitute pulled her arm from Shui's grip and rubbed it, frowning. 

"Fine, good, he's upstairs in eleven ten.  Just don't - hurt anyone." 

Pellara snorted in disgust.  "Sure, wouldn't think of it."  She turned and headed for the stairs, and Qui-Gon followed her.  Events were crowding him, as close as the big, armoured bodies of Pellara Shui's troopers.  Soon now.

 

 

He'd had to lie from time to time, as the needs of a mission warranted, but always in the cause of others.  Truth, Qui-Gon had said, isn't an absolute, it can and should be used in moderation.  Truthfulness was a matter of discretion, and in this case Obi-Wan was in no doubt of his cause. It had been a good performance, as good a one as he'd ever given, especially tailored for an audience of one.  To deceive Xanatos was an act of defiance - and defence. 

The other man had enjoyed himself, if the enthusiastic, repeated couplings were anything to go by.  After the fourth time he'd gone to the bathroom, pulling on Obi-Wan's robe and combing his fingers through the tangled mass of his dark hair.  He is attractive, Obi-Wan thought, as he propped himself up on the pillows.  Rather like a dangerous animal, with all its feral lack of conscience, its hunger for sensation.  _And for some reason, he loves Qui-Gon.  Loves him, or desires him, or hates him in some way that he equates to passion._ It was an uncomfortable revelation. 

While Xanatos was out of the room Obi-Wan had slipped his leggings back on and retrieved the small vial Shawn had given him.  He hadn't put it into the wine because he thought Xanatos might force him to drink, but in the aftermath of the sex he might not be quite so wary.  Slipping the little bottle in the pocket of the pants, Obi-Wan sat back down to wait for his chance. 

At that same moment, as Xanatos returned, the bedroom door open and a crowd of strangers poured into the room.  

Obi-Wan's haziness fell away as he lurched upright on the bed.  One of the leading figures was memorable - the woman who'd led the raiders responsible for murdering the ship's passengers and crew and selling him to the brothel.  But it was the one behind her, the tall, splendid, familiar figure that had him stumbling in delighted surprise.  Even beardless and oddly dressed, he was unmistakeable. 

"Qui-Gon!" 

Things began to blur as everyone moved.  The woman turned and grabbed hold of a handful of Qui-Gon's shirt and her voice was savage. 

"You thought you fooled me with your slick mouth and your clever way - but you didn't, Jedi!  So now you can watch while I kill the pup and then you'll die as well. .!" 

Obi-Wan had almost forgotten how deceptive Qui-Gon could be.  One moment still, the next moving backwards and something leapt from his sleeve, a slender silver tube slid into his hand and brilliant yellow light flared - a lightsabre, but smaller, hardly longer than his forearm but still a lightsabre and it slashed in an arc of flame, taking off the woman's arm and the arm of the creature behind her who was starting to point a blaster at Qui-Gon's head. 

She screamed as she staggered back, holding the stump of her arm and then the half dozen aliens with her were shouting and shoving and blaster fire was suddenly erupting. 

Obi-Wan rolled across the bed; he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, saw a robed figure tumbling across the floor and Xanatos was coming to his knees beside the bed with a blaster in his hand.  As he twisted aside, Obi-Wan thrust his hand under the mattress, gripped the handle of his lightsabre and pulled it out, igniting it as he turned.  He leapt forward, swinging the humming light blade towards the blaster fire, reaching out to deflect them as he'd been trained and - - 

Time distorted as it did in moments of great stress and Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan, watched the beloved features brighten in recognition.  The flash of joy at seeing him alive was shaken by the sight of Xanatos and the obvious intimacy of the setting, but there was no time to do anything or respond further. 

Shui's revelation of his identity was a surprise, but he had become inured to such surprises over the previous weeks and he reacted instinctively to the threat, drawing his hidden lightdagger and slashing at the raiders around him, trying to clear a path through to Obi-Wan.  He saw Obi-Wan pull out his lightsabre from beneath the bed, raise it to fight and then collapse as if he'd been struck. 

In that moment of shocked immobility, Qui-Gon was vulnerable. 

The blaster shot struck him in the right shoulder and he spun around, dropping and slicing, trying to stay conscious in spite of the hot agony radiating across his chest.  He shifted the light dagger to his left hand, fending off blaster shots, though the world was growing hazy and things moved in a distorted wobble. 

As another blaster shot sliced past Qui-Gon's face he thought, I am going to die now, and I will never get the chance to ask the questions and tell him how sorry I am not to have found him soon enough.  

He heard the door smash open, heard raised voices.  He looked up wearily as more armed men entered and thought, well, that's it then.  Stunners sang their deep buzzing song, raiders fell and he saw, before his vision dimmed, the pale lovely face of the girl he'd seen earlier.  She spoke to him as she knelt to touch him and he saw her eyes widen at the sight of his wound.  

He could barely speak above the roar of the pain.  "Obi. . .Wan?" 

She shook her head.  "That man, Xanatos, took him." 

He fell into darkness.

 

 

When Qui-Gon woke his first thought was that he was experiencing some sort of loud delirium.  Noise pounded in his head and he groaned and opened one eye. 

A woman's voice spoke nearby.  "Take it easy, Jedi.  You've been shot, remember?" 

He looked up at the dim image of a face hovering above him and shortly thereafter the rest of the girl's body came into focus. It was the young scantily-clad woman they'd met on the ground floor.  He looked past her and saw the source of most of the noise. 

Pellara Shui was being treated by someone and he remembered suddenly that he'd cut her arm off.  When she saw he was awake she spat at him with a fair degree of accuracy, and called him names he supposed were foul.  Since she was cursing him in an unfamiliar tongue he could only assume. 

A figure came into his view, blocking the raging raider from sight.  He looked up, blinking, into an unfamiliar human male face. 

"Well, you're alive then." 

In spite of the pain, Qui-Gon thought the man's tone showed some disappointment.  A lot of people seemed to want him dead, which wasn't all that unusual.  Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon levered himself upright, biting down on a groan, aware of a pair of soft but surprisingly strong hands propping him.  He thanked the young woman breathlessly and rested against her as he waited for the world to stop spinning. 

"Shawna, see if you can get him up onto the bed.  I'll take Pellara and her people down to the cellar.  We have some discussing to do."  The strange man turned and, along with a group of grim-looking armed men, began dragging and pushing Pellara and her people out the door. 

Standing really hurt and took all of his concentration.  When he had energy left to think again, Qui-Gon saw that the room was empty, except for himself and the woman - Shawna, he thought, her name is Shawna - sitting beside him stripping away his singed jacket and shirt. 

He helped as he could, holding himself up on one elbow as she pulled the tattered and bloodied clothing off.  It didn't seem to disturb her and he thought blearily that she must be used to men's bodies in various states of abuse.  He flopped backwards and closed his eyes, opening them again at the touch of something cool on his chest. 

She bathed his wounds without speaking, covered the blistered and blackened skin with some sort of bacta cream and wrapped him up efficiently in padding and bandages.  As she helped him on with a clean shirt, Shawna finally spoke. 

"I'm sorry about Obi-Wan." 

Qui-Gon looked into her eyes, a pale, fine blue, coloured by her distress. 

"He isn't dead.  I'd know if he were.  I have to follow Xanatos, wherever he has gone." 

Shawna nodded, wiping his face with another damp cloth.  "I've given you an antigen shot but you've lost blood and the shock of the wound will set in soon."  She dropped the cloth into the bowl of discoloured water and sat back down in the chair as Qui-Gon settled backwards onto the pillows.  "And that wasn't what I meant, about being sorry.  The first day he came here he asked me to help him and I said I wouldn't."  She wiped her hands absently on a towel, then dropped it on the floor.  "I didn't want to get involved.  I was afraid, not physically, but afraid of. . ."  She shook her head and finally looked at Qui-Gon.  "It's too hard to explain now.  When I said I was sorry, I meant I was sorry for being such a coward.  He deserved better." 

"Yes he did." 

Her eyes flew up to his.  She hesitated, then gave a surprised half smile.  "Well, you're honest.  And you're right, he did.  He was frightened too, even though he was a Jedi Knight and a man, a proud man.  But he kept going, stayed true to himself.  It would have been easy for him to hate, hate me and Elgar and all the people who abused him.  He didn't, though.  I would have." 

"Most people would," Qui-Gon said softly, "but most people aren't Obi-Wan."  He took a deep breath and concentrated on the pain.  Pain was simply the body's warning of injury - he accepted the injury and the pain but went through it, pushed it aside.  The weakness was, he knew, from shock and blood-loss, but it would pass.  He sat further upright and looked about the room. 

"I need some fresh clothing.  I need to go." 

He heard her indrawn breath, expected argument, then turned to see her offering him her hand.  "Yes, I thought you would want to do that.  It's not very smart." 

"Oh," he said as he grimly pulled himself to his feet, "in this matter I don't suppose I can be very wise.  I won't just lie here when he is so close, not after all that I. . .we have been through." 

The world swung around a little and he closed his eyes until it steadied.  When he opened them she was standing in front of him, frowning, and holding out a shirt.  "You'll probably fall over a lot." 

"Probably," he said, with a slight smile.  "It won't be a new experience for me." 

By the time he had finished carefully redressing, he wondered if he would be able to even get through the door.  He was light-headed and the wound had begun to ache again.  Everything hurt.  The wound.  His head.  His heart.  Depression was a void that threatened to suck him down.  So close, he had been so close. 

It took a great deal of grim determination just to cross to the bathroom and wash some of the grime from his hands, to wash his face and prepare himself for departure.  When he returned, he stopped outside the bathroom door, surprised. 

The attractive prostitute had disappeared, replaced by a capable looking young woman dressed in a one-piece grey flight suit, grey ankle boots and a vest with many pockets.  Her hair was tied back in a neat braid and she looked up at him as she strapped the holster ties of a small gun around her thigh. 

"I'm coming with you." 

"You are not." 

She stood and put both hands on her hips.  "And how do you plan to follow them?  Pellara will still have people aboard her ship; you can't use that.  If you do have money to hire a transport, it will take hours to organise it.  On the other hand, I," she said, tipping a finger to her chest, "have my own ship.  It's small, but it's nippy, and it's ready to fly." 

"You own a Jump capable ship?"   He regretted the condescending tone the moment the words were said, and saw two red spots flower on her cheeks. 

"As it happens, I do.  It was my father's and I've spent some of my hard-earned credits fixing it up.  I planned to go into business with it as soon as I decide what kind of business I want to do.  It's not armed, but it works and its fuelled and . . ."  she stopped and sighed.  "Look, just take the offer.  You can't fly her alone, not in the state you are.  I'll pilot, you can handle the rest." 

There had been times on missions when he had used other people without a qualm - yes this time he was hesitant, for reasons he wasn't quite sure he wanted to look at too closely.  "I thank you, but . ." 

"Is it because I'm a whore?" 

Qui-Gon forced himself to look down into her face as he rested his hand on a chair back to steady himself.  "No, it isn't that --" 

"It is."  She watched him, eyes narrowing.  "We all sell ourselves, Jedi.  For different things, for cause or comfort or whatever.  If you can say you've gone through your life and never done that, then. . "  She shrugged, and he knew he'd managed to hurt her. 

Qui-Gon remembered the night with Shui.  "No, I can't say that.  I would be honoured to travel with you, Shawna."  Justification and guilt would need to wait for another time.  "Thank you." 

She looked up into his eyes and nodded.  "Good."  Moving along side him, she lifted one arm over her shoulder and grabbed him around the waist.  "You can lean on me, I'm really quite strong for my size." 

He didn't mention that he was a Jedi Master, that he could have lifted her over his head with just the power of his mind.  Qui-Gon simply held on to her as they walked outside and onto the street. 


	8. Chapter 8

Obi-Wan woke slowly, feeling heavy-headed and woozy and he recognised the headachy effects of the Force-inhibiting chip.  He groaned and opened his eyes to find himself lying on an unfamiliar bed with Xanatos sitting in chair next to him. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath to calm his nausea as the older man spoke. 

"Good, you're not dead.  What happened?" 

Obi-Wan wiped his eyes and coughed.  "The chip." 

"Ah yes, Elgar's little Force inhibitor." 

"Yes, cursed thing, I tried to draw on the Force and. . ."  He remembered, suddenly, and sat upright so fast his head swam.  "Qui-Gon!" 

Xanatos sat back and crossed one leg over the other.  "Yes, he was there.  Along with the bitch Shui, for which I can thank my double-dealing agent, I suspect.  It was a good fight, brief and nasty."  He stroked one finger down his nose and sighed.  "Of course, I will have to kill Szmaz." 

"I must still be addled," Obi-Wan said, as he sat up and tried to focus, "because I have no idea what you're talking about.  Where is Qui-Gon..."  he looked around and frowned, "and where is this?" 

"One thing at a time.  First, Qui-Gon isn't here.  He was shot." 

For a moment the words didn't impact, so casually had Xanatos dropped them into the air - but when they did, nothing else mattered.  He surged upwards, hands reaching for Xanatos' throat, only to find himself pinned against some hard surface...wall, floor, he wasn't sure.  The pain blotted out everything but itself.  He might have screamed, some sort of primal sound but finally, after some eternity, words got through to him.  He was being shaken and held and the words drilled into him. 

"Obi-Wan!  Calm down, damn it!  He isn't dead, do you hear me, Qui-Gon isn't dead!" 

Obi-Wan shivered in reaction.  "You. . .you. . ." 

"I didn't shoot him, one of those armed thugs that burst into the room did the deed." 

Obi-Wan fought for control, though any sort of true balance was beyond him.  "I must get back to him, help him." 

"A bit difficult."  Xanatos waved a hand at a transparent view port and Obi-Wan saw stars.  "We're heading off world, just went to jump.  Now don't make me sedate you, Obi-Wan.  I am in charge here and you will obey me and control yourself." 

Emotions swirled through Obi-Wan, flushing through his centre in a wave.  Uppermost was anger, intense white anger that some small rational part of him  noted was bright, not dark.  Why had his teachers said that anger was dark when it lit his mind to incandescence? 

Uppermost was hatred.  "You left him there?  You left him, perhaps dying, to drag me off?  Sith hells, you must hate us both."  The despise he felt for Xanatos in that moment was impossible to hide and he saw the older man pale, and his lips thinned as his eyes narrowed. 

"You're getting the picture.  If he's dead, he's dead, and you move on." 

"Have you moved on?  No, I don't think so.  Understand me, Xanatos:  I will do whatever I have to do to escape.  I will kill you if I have the chance.  Whatever I have to do, and damn the consequences!"  His eyes narrowed and his voice was a barely recognisable snarl.  "And if he is dead because of you, I will never rest until you are dead." 

Xanatos stood and straightened his clothing with a tug.  "Very melodramatic, and not terribly Jedi, but understandable I suppose. There are clothes in the closet and there's a basic 'fresher if you need to clean up.  We'll be home in a few hours.  If you behave yourself, the trip will be a lot more pleasant."  He paused, and if Obi-Wan hadn't known better, he thought the other man might have been concerned.  The moment passed, Xanatos turned and left. 

 

 

The "Unsinkable" was an older model of the smallest registered class of interstellar general transport.  Around twice the size of a snub fighter, her jump engines were almost as large as her cabin.  She was noisy, had a temperamental AI system and was painted a patchwork of colors.  Shawna obviously loved her. 

Shawna had patted the doorframe as she'd climbed up the boarding ramp.  "My poor old girl, I haven't visited for ages."  She'd led Qui-Gon through the narrow passageway into the to the cockpit and taken the pilot seat, calling up the port for authority to launch.  Qui-Gon had settled carefully into the second seat and looked over the controls. 

He could have taken the ship out himself, the controls were simple and the computer a basic model with a few slight modifications.  The right thing, the sensible thing, would have been to carry Shawna offship and take off without her.  Taking her into danger was hardly the proper thing to do.  Yet something had told him he would need her, that in this instance the right thing to do might not be what was needed. 

So he hadn't, and how much guilt or otherwise that decision would add to the load he already carried, he didn't know.  He watched the young woman efficiently getting all the systems online, tinkering with the engines until they purred, and considered the information they had gathered on the way to the port.   

Everyone around the area of the ship port seemed to know Shawna; merchants, mercenaries, beggars and thieves and officials, all happy to talk to the girl when she smiled at them in her friendly, practised way.  She'd picked up Xanatos' track quickly; a tall dark-haired man wearing a bathrobe and carrying an unconscious man over his shoulder tended to stake a claim in the memory. 

One vital piece of information had come their way at the port itself.  In his haste to take off, Xanatos had left one of his crewmen behind.  The man had been drinking in a nearby bar and had missed the call to report for takeoff.  He was drunk and annoyed and happy, for a few credits, to give them the location of his employer's base of operations. 

So they were about to take off for a system some two parsecs away containing one barely habitable planet , a huge cloud of ore-bearing asteroids and a large space station called Minehead. 

 

 

Minehead was about the last place Obi-Wan would have thought that Xanatos would choose for a base.  For one thing, it smelled.  Even top-of-the-line air scrubbers didn't help a lot when shiploads of miners who hadn't washed in weeks came in from the beltmines for some fun.  There was the constant odour of lubricants and ore dust, of unwashed flesh and stale beer.  It was noisy, busy and utilitarian. 

Xanatos had taken over half of an upper level of one of the sections, accessed only through a private corridor.  A pair of armored humans stood guard at the main entry with a security team manning the inner lock.  Once inside, the smells and the sounds disappeared in an overall feel of luxury and comfort. 

Obi-Wan had been hauled inside, with no chance to make any attempt at escape, even assuming there was anywhere he could get to.  After depositing him in a bedroom with instructions to wash and change, Xanatos had left him alone. 

All he had been able to think of was escape, of getting back to Farsides and finding Qui-Gon.  He had considered and discarded half a dozen plans and continued to be puzzled by Xanatos' behaviour.  The big question of why the man had picked him up and carted him away, was unanswered.  Did he have some strange idea of keeping Obi-Wan forever as some sort of sex slave? It seemed a foolish notion, when he would have to be on his guard every moment -  a ludicrous act for someone Obi-Wan had thought of as calculating. 

Needing to freshen up and bring some order to his thoughts, Obi-Wan went to the bathroom of the suite he'd been locked into.  There were clothes, some plain grey leggings and boots, a black long-sleeved shirt and belt.  As he stripped out of the pants he'd been wearing at Farsides, he felt a small lump in his pants pocket. 

The vial.  Pulling it out, he looked down at it, smiling as a plan formed.  Yes, it might be just the right time to have a subdued and obedient Xanatos . . . 

 

 

The jump to the Minehead system took only a few hours, but it seemed to take almost as long to navigate the jumble of ore carriers, transports and shuttles surrounding the system.  His energy reserves fading, Qui-Gon was finally content to let Shawna pilot the Unsinkable carefully through the crowd.  She seemed to understand her little ship well and had a delicate touch.  

"I've made up some time," Shawna said as drove the little transport like an overgrown speeder through the heavy inner system traffic.  "His pilot couldn't have cut in the way I have."  She looked at him, concern shading her eyes.  "We'll be there soon.  Are you sure you wouldn't like a pain shot?" 

"Yes, I'm sure.  The side effects might affect my reaction times."  The burning ache in his chest made it difficult to concentrate but he couldn't afford to lose any advantage, to reduce his ability to fight. The Force, and his intimate connection to it, was his only hope.   But Xanatos has the Force, too, the traitorous little voice inside insisted on reminding him.  And he's young, and strong, and uninjured. 

In the end, none of that mattered.  He would succeed, Xanatos would not.  That was all there was to it. 

Pushing the heavy throb of pain in his chest to the background, he turned to watch Shawna working her controls as she made the final turn for docking at the huge space habitat.   "You're good at this.  A natural touch at piloting is a very useful skill." 

"Thank you."  She didn't take her eyes from the sensor screens, her eyebrows pinched together in concentration.  "I do like it.  I haven't been able to fly out very often because of the fuel and docking costs.  One more season, though, and I'll have enough to start a light freight run, and I've got my eye on a little place on Alderaan."  She flipped on the communicator as it began peeping.  "Yes, Minehead, this is Unsinkable coming in for small freight collection."  She answered the port's droid controller and finally had permission to dock. 

As they connected with the station and she cut the engines, Qui-Gon stood and waited for her at the exit.  "He'll probably have someone watching for me." 

"Yes, he probably will," she said, as she opened the inner lock.  "But they won't be looking for me." 

He looked down at her as she looked up at him, her young, wide eyes clear and bright.  "I am not happy about this.  If anything were to happen to you -" 

"Then you would remember that no-one forced me here - that no-one paid money for me to do it.  No one bought me, used me, drugged me or planted anything in my head to cripple me.  I am here," she said finally, in a very gentle voice, "because I want to be.  Just as you do.  That makes us the same in this time and place, Jedi Master.  We're both here because we wanted to be here."  She grinned, loosing her solemnity.  "Besides, nothing is going to happen to me.  I've got fabulous p'tah." 

"Indeed?  I am relieved to hear it.  Take this," he said, handing her a minicom.  "As soon as you safely can, contact me with details." 

With a bright smile, she tipped a finger to her forehead in salute and ran down the landing ramp. 

 

"Sumptuous" wasn't a word Obi-Wan used all that often, but it certainly applied to Xanatos' home.  No effort - or expense, Obi-Wan didn't doubt - had been spared to soften the utilitarian structure into a comfortable home.  He had not just improved, he had decorated:  thick carpeting, muted pastel walls, warm lighting and masses of plants, and everything arranged with taste.  Even the air smelled clean. Obi-Wan doubted any of the artworks on walls and display stands were copies, and there was a considerable - and surprising - collection of real books on wooden shelving in the main living area.   One section of metal wall had been replaced with very expensive transparent Trerontium, so that it almost seemed you could just step through into space. 

Obi-Wan stood in front of the big window, listlessly watching the flow of traffic that danced around the station in a flashing pattern of light and motion.  He knew he had to start planning, start pulling himself out of the mental and emotional rut he was in, but he wasn't quite sure where to start.  Anxiety for Qui-Gon was a constant ache that made it difficult for him to think. He was tired, and depressed - and very tired of being depressed. 

/ /He wouldn't approve of that.//  The thought made him smile.  No, Qui-Gon wouldn't approve at all of him standing there like a lump, letting events work move around him like those little lights moved around the station.  For too long he had allowed himself be manipulated or forced into situations.  It was time to start influencing events himself. 

Xanatos had told him they would eat together and he'd waited there, fingering the small vial in his pocket and wondering if the chance would come to use it.  Perhaps it was time to make the opportunity, and not just wait for it.  He nodded, pulling himself away from the emotional black hole he'd been heading into.  

Obi-Wan turned from the window and crossed to a refrigeration unit set in one wall.  Opening the glass door, he took out a bottle of the wine that Xanatos seemed to appreciate.  He collected two glasses, opened the bottle and poured wine into both glasses.  As a young man raised in the disciplines of the Temple, Obi-Wan had rarely been offered wine.  It was only during missions or formal duties that it had been available, and he'd usually found it too acidic for his taste.  He sipped the cool dark red liquid; it was tart on his palette and he swallowed more, feeling the sharp alcoholic spark hitting his stomach.  

The vial held only a tiny portion of the drug and he had no idea of its potency.  What the hell, he thought, it won't kill him, and he tipped the whole vial into the second glass and topped it up, placing it on a mat at the end of the dark wood table.  Sitting in a chair to one side, he rested both feet up on the table and sat back to drink his wine and wait. 

Obi-Wan was onto his second glass when the door opened behind him.  He didn't need to turn to recognise the smooth, confident step. 

"Well, who'd have thought it.  Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, drinking wine.  And slouching, too.  Drinking and slouching, debauchery will follow." 

Xanatos moved into view, and looked down at the full glass on the table.  "For me?"  He didn't move to touch it, but stripped off his black jacket and draped it over the chair.  "That's unusually hospitable of you.  Very unusual." 

Obi-Wan tried not to watch as Xanatos picked up the glass and swirled the delicate stem gently between his fingers.  He perched on the edge of the table, holding the glass stem between forefinger and thumb as he looked down at Obi-Wan. "What, no requests, demands, threats?" 

Dropping his feet to the floor, Obi-Wan swung slowly around in his chair and swallowed the remainder of his wine.  He put the glass gently on the table.  "Demands or threats, no.  But a request, yes  - I would like to know what you have in mind.  For me.  Bringing me here doesn't make a lot of sense." 

"No, it doesn't, does it.  Very impulsive, on the surface."  Xanatos put the glass back down and crossed his arms over his chest, mouth tipped up in a small smile.  "Sometimes you just have to go with your instincts.  I can remember my Master telling me: live in the present, Xanatos, sense the flow of the Force, understand it and you will understand eternity.  Or some such rot.  But he was right.  Sometimes it tells you things.  Warns you, even." 

A little cold ball settled in Obi-Wan's gut.  It couldn't be, surely. . ."And what is it warning you of now?  That it was stupid to bring me?" 

"Oh no."  Blue eyes glinted with wicked humour.  "I have a strange idea that might turn out quite well in the end.  No, there's something else.  Something . . . elusive.  I'm still working on it.  Who knows," he said, sliding to his feet and picking up the glass again, "it might be trying to tell me something about you.  And me.  And how you can never trust a damned Jedi." 

He slid the glass down the table towards Obi-Wan.  "Since you seem to like this particular vintage, why don't you drink this as well?" 

"No, thank you, I've already had too much." 

"Never too much of a good thing."  Xanatos' voice grew cold.  "Drink it." 

Obi-Wan watched Xanatos, sensing his tension.  The older man seemed poised on the edge of violence.  "Don't belabour the point." 

With a brief ghost of a smile, Xanatos stood and walked over to the window, his hands tucked behind his back.  Starlight shone coldly on his long, dark hair.  "It's a lovely view, isn't it?  Almost everyone stands here.  I think it's the idea of just this invisible skin between life and death.  That's why I put my little security cam there, up here in the frame.  So I can see people's faces when they plot against me."  He turned around and the smile was chilly.  "Was it poison, Obi-Wan?  Would I have died writhing in agony on the floor, cursing you?" 

Part of Obi-Wan wondered if he would ever learn, or if his stupidity would be the death of him, an all-too likely possibility at that moment.  "I don't deal in poisons, Xanatos.  It was just a drug, to make you, shall we say, pliant.  To give me time to get away." 

Xanatos walked closer, reached out and took Obi-Wan's chin in one hand.  The younger man didn't resist as his face was tipped up to meet Xanatos' eyes.  "No, I suppose it's not your style, though it would be mine.  Vengeance - like wine - is better chilled.  You let this one get too warm.   Very warm."  Xanatos bent his head and his face went out of focus as he took Obi-Wan's mouth in a deep, searching kiss.  A hand at the back of his head kept him still - that, and his pride.  Xanatos tasted his mouth with a soft, pleased murmur, before pulling back. 

"Yes, a nice vintage."  He ran one finger over Obi-Wan's mouth before turning away. "Now, why don't you sit down and we'll talk about the rules."

 

Qui-Gon had never handled doing nothing very well.  He knew the sense of it - of staying in and waiting for word from Shawna - but that didn't make the passing of time any easier.  He'd used some of the time while Shawna was away checking up on Minehead, linking the little ship's computer into the station database.  The area shown as being under private ownership of a Xanatos-controlled company was not that far away and thought not large, was the biggest accommodation sector on the station. 

He thought of Obi-Wan, so close, and this time there would be no mistakes, no interruptions.  He would kill Xanatos, if necessary, or anyone else who got in his way.  He pulled Obi-Wan's lightsaber from his pocket and studied it, remembering how many times he'd seen it in his lover's competent hands.   Shawna had explained about the chip that the owner of the brothel, Elgar, had put into Obi-Wan's head to restrict his access to the Force.  That act, also, required some sort of penalty.  The idea of Obi-Wan being crippled in such a way was nauseating. 

After that he'd treated his wound, applying a new bacta dressing and wishing he'd had the thought to pick up some zoom pills before leaving Beefect.  The little pep pills would have given him an energy boost in the short term and although they couldn't mask the pain, they would have helped.  The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, but the throbbing pain had only barely diminished.  He knew he needed to rest.  Shock and exhaustion and stress were draining Qui-Gon's last energy reserves. 

He'd patched himself up as best he could and was waiting by the exit ramp when Shawna returned.  She slipped inside and closed the door and pulled the small datapad from her pack.  "I scouted around, found his place and checked it out.  There is one guard on the outside checking anyone who tries to get in and I caught a glimpse inside when the door opened to let someone out.  There are at least two guards inside, too."  She shrugged and put the pad away.  "That was all I could see.  Some of the local pros say he keeps pretty well to himself, though the guards call on them now and then.  Aside from the security people, they didn't think anyone else stayed there permanently.  He mostly seems to use droids." 

Qui-Gon nodded, thoughtful.  "Yes, that would be Xanatos, always suspicious of anyone getting too close.  I have checked out the station databanks, there is a basic floorplan of the section, but the only way in seems to be the main door.  There is an emergency exit with an escape pod, but that's no help." 

"Airducts?" Shawna suggested, and Qui-Gon shook his head. 

"No, too small." 

"Well," she said, shrugging, "if we can't sneak in, we have to trick our way in." 

"We?"  Qui-Gon frowned and shook his head.  "This is the end of your part in this, young woman.  I have no intention of involving you any further." 

"Oh, you don't!"  She scowled up at him, hands on her hips.  "And how do you plan to get in there?  Break down the door?  Cut through the walls with a lightsaber?  Even if you managed to get in, there are four of them and one of you." 

"Two," he interrupted.  "Obi-Wan is in there as well." 

"Yes, without a weapon, Force-blinded and maybe even restrained.  So there is a partly-useful Obi and a partly-useful you.  Not good odds." 

Qui-Gon sagged back against the wall, and sucked in an unhappy breath.  "Has anyone ever told you that you can be a very annoying young woman?" 

Shawna fluttered her eyelashes at him and smiled.  "That's fairly well down the list of things men say to me." 

He laughed, for the first time in weeks.  "Yes, I can see that.  Well, perhaps the station authorities would give us assistance, some sort of official backing." 

"Uhuh.  The girls told me this Xanatos pays the Mining Syndicate a sizeable payment for his privacy.  They're just as likely to hand you over to him - or accidentally put you out the airlock without a ship.  Miners don't have a lot of time for authority figures.  They're real fond of money, though."  She watched him and held up both hands, gesturing towards the outer door.  "I can get you inside." 

"Shawna. . .!" 

"Well, I can!  I can get that door open, and once it's open you can do the rest.  Can't you?"  She looked at him, concerned and he straightened, ignoring the flush of pain. 

"Yes.  Very well, how do you plan to open the door." 

She smiled as she turned towards the exit ramp.  "You just follow me, and watch a professional at work." 

 

The door guard was bored, tired and thirsty.  His shift was up in one more time part and he couldn't decide whether he wanted entertainment, sleep or a beer first.  As he watched the trim little blonde sway down the corridor towards him, he thought entertainment was near the top of the list. 

She stopped in front of him and he looked down into a pair of bright lovely eyes.  "What you want, girl?" 

She pointed at the door.  "Not what I want, big man, it's what he wants.  Your master has requested the pleasure of my company for the night." 

"I don't got no orders about that," he said, frowning.  "I'll have to check." 

"Well, sure, boyzo, but while you do it, let me inside, will you?  This outfit," she said, as she pulled off her jacket to reveal nothing but a pair of nipple rings on a pair of beautiful breasts, "is a bit chill out here.  Look, I'm getting chillbumps all over!" 

He goggled and fumbled at the door switch.  The door slid open and he gestured inside.  "Sure, girl, I can see that!  You better get in there and get warm." 

She slid forward and gave a quick giggle.  "I'll do that, if you'll just let me squeeze past, you great big lump. . .!"  As she moved against towards the door, the guard felt a tap on his shoulder.  He looked around and the last thing he saw for some time was a fist heading for his face - -

 

The alarm was a constant, high pinging that could be heard all through the corridors and rooms of Xanatos' suite.  At the first sound of it, Xanatos had shot out of his seat, pulled a blaster and grabbed Obi-Wan, pushing him before him out of the room. 

"I thought the wound would at least slow him down," Xanatos muttered, holding onto the back of Obi-Wan's shirt as he manoeuvred him around a corner.  "The man is impossible!  How did he find me so damned fast!" 

"Unless you plan to kill both of us, a confrontation isn't a good idea," Obi-Wan said, aware of the blaster barrel pushed into his lower back.  "He won't just walk away if you ask nicely." 

"Yes, I do know that.  I may have to kill him." 

Obi-Wan stopped abruptly, ignoring the sudden small pain of the blaster.  "Are you familiar with the term 'over my dead body'?  In this case, that's a literal statement."  He looked over his shoulder.  "Let me go, walk away.  You can probably escape if you're quick." 

"Did I ever tell you that you were cute, Obi-Wan?  No?  Probably because you aren't.  Just remember, I have this big blaster here. . ." 

Everything exploded.  The wall blew in with a blast that knocked them both backwards into the wall.  Stunned and shaken and completely shocked, Obi-Wan looked up as a group of people came in through the dust and smoke.  They were big and wearing body armour, except for the one in front.  She was small, and seemed to have part of one arm missing.  She stood in the smoke glaring at them, an enormous blaster in her left hand, and she snarled. 

"Where's that bastard Jedi!?" 

 

Qui-Gon had just managed to despatch the remaining internal security men when the floor rocked beneath him and the muffled sound of an explosion overrode the alarm siren.  Moments later small puffs of smoke drifted out of the nearby airvents and the main station alarm sirens started howling. 

"What the. . .!  Shawna, get back to the ship, get it ready for launch."  He watched her dash out of the room and turned towards the door out of the foyer.  When it slid open smoke poured out and he moved forward, eyes narrowed, concentrating on the Force for strength and calm. 

He heard voices from around one corner and stopped, straining to hear. 

". . .and who the hell are you blowing up my home, Sith dammit!" 

"Shut your mouth, or I'll kill you now.  You stay alive while you're useful, so start being useful.  I want to know where that Jedi is.  That bastard cut off my arm and killed some of my people and nobody - nobody! - does that to me and lives." 

Not good.  A quick peak around the corner and he saw Obi-Wan and Xanatos on the floor with a group of armoured figures surrounding them, and Pellara Shui standing over them.  The woman was as obstinate as she was rapacious.  He did a quick head count and ducked back.  Two humanoids, two Gorgundians and Shui.  Not good odds.  He sat back, breathing thinly to reduce the effect of the smoke, and tried to think. 

The layout, what was the layout. . .He concentrated, bring the plans he'd viewed to his memory.  An entry foyer, a corridor leading to a number of rooms.  One room showing as a storeroom of some sort.  He closed his eyes and concentrated, casting the Force towards the area shown on the plan, and projected. 

There was a sharp crash and an oath.  "What was that?  Horg, Beedel, go look!  Jerg, go down the corridor there and see if there's anyone around." 

_Good, split your forces, give me the edge I need._   Qui-Gon balanced on the balls of his feet, Obi-Wan's unlit lighsaber in one hand, his small lightdagger in the other.  As the big alien reached the opening Qui-Gon twirled, lit the 'saber and sliced it horizontally at midpoint.  The Gorgundian screamed and leapt - and fell in two parts, the pieces still screaming and writhing. 

Continuing to spin, Qui-Gon tossed his lightdagger down the passageway.  One of the guards tried to intercept it, but it twisted in mid-air, and flew into Obi-Wan's hand.  Qui-Gon had a moment to be surprised - he hadn't done it, and Obi-Wan couldn't - before Pellara saw him, screamed a curse, and turned her blaster towards him.  

The little cylinder hit Obi-Wan's palm with a smack and he flipped it on, tumbling across the floor towards the armoured figure opposite.  He sliced; the man leapt and kicked, hitting his shoulder with one big booted foot.  Obi-Wan winced and kept rolling, banged into the wall and sliced again, cutting through armour and skin, but superficially..  It was a clumsy angle to fight from, and he knew that if he didn't get to his feet he'd be as likely to dismember himself as anyone else. 

Something. . .and invisible touch . . .lifted him and spun him in midair.  He went with it, twisting like some living fireworks, slicing into first one, and then a second, raider.  The other Gorgundian, who had just emerged from the storeroom, was brighter than his fellow.  He didn't fire at the spinning figure with the lightsaber - he fired at Xanatos, lying wedged into the corner next to Pellara. 

Xanatos screamed and Obi-Wan dropped.  Flexing every muscle, drawing on all his physical training, Obi-Wan pushed himself against the wall and leapt, the lightsaber point going straight into the Gorgundian's chest.  With only a short, shocked grunt, the alien fell, dead. 

As he turned, he saw Pellara go down, taken out by one of her own shots reflected back by a laser sword in a hands of a Master.  Obi-Wan pushed her aside and knelt next to Xanatos, who was looking down at his scorched chest in numb disbelief. 

"I've. . . been shot."  He winced and all colour left his already-pale face.  "That's not good." 

"I'm not a Healer, I can't help you, I don't have the Force and I couldn't help because I don't know how. . "  He picked the older man up into his arms, held him, ignoring the blood.  "You did that, didn't you - lifted me up so I could fight?" 

"Yes.  Pretty good . . .for a failed Jedi." 

He sensed Qui-Gon behind him, felt the familiar hand on his shoulder.  "Obi-Wan?" 

"Yes.  Just a minute."  He looked into Xanatos' eyes, saw him look up at Qui-Gon with an expression something like longing.  "I'll get you to a medic, Xanatos.  Just hang on." 

He switched his gaze to Obi-Wan, breathing unsteadily, fighting the fear.  "It was good, wasn't it?  Bad, but good.  Go on, Obi, you can say it,"  he said softly, his words slurring, "now you can admit it." 

"Yes," Obi-Wan whispered.  "You know me better than almost anyone." 

With a last surge of energy, Xanatos curled one hand around Obi-Wan’s head and pulled him down into a kiss.  His voice was a husky purr, hitching in pain.  “Pretend. . .for me. . .”  

So Obi-Wan didn’t fight the kiss but held him;  he watched the fire fade from the wicked, beautiful eyes, and wondered if he could ever tell his lover that it hadn’t been entirely pretend.

 

Shawna sipped on the cold beer and wiped a drop of foam from her lips.  “Well, at least they make decent beer here.  A girl could do worse.”  She looked up into Obi-Wan’s eyes and grinned.  “Oh, stop being so – what’s the word? – downcaste.  That’s it.  Always wanted to use that.  I’ll be fine, Obi.  As I told Qui-Gon, I’ve got great p’tah.  I have my ship and a few bits and pieces put aside and ..” She looked out at the stars view the bar viewport.  “And I’ve got the whole galaxy to make mine.  Who knows,” she finished with a grin, “I may find someone to be with who won’t care what I did to get where I was going.” 

He lifted her hand, turned it, and pressed a kiss to soft skin of her palm.  “I have a feeling you will.  And if you ever have reason to need a Jedi, send me a call care of the Temple on Coruscant.”  

“I’ll do that.  You look after that big specimen of yours – and give him a full tongue kiss for me.”  

 

While the Minehead Board of Control was annoyed at having their station damaged,  explanations and offer of fine-payment satisfied them.  There was so much to be done, for a time Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan hardly had time to do more than touch each other, in confirmation of finally being able to do so. 

They'd had little time to talk privately, and no way of being alone.  Obi-Wan had to satisfy himself with sitting close to the bed and resting his chin on one propped hand while the other was tucked in Qui-Gon's.  Obi-Wan could see that Qui-Gon had a lot of questions and he wasn't sure how to answer them all.  He wasn't entirely sure of the answers himself.  He had told Qui-Gon the basic facts, filling the events of the capture, the children as hostage, his own assaults and sale to the brothel.  The older man didn't interrupt, let him talk his story out. 

". . .and I was hoping to organise some opportunity to get off planet using Xanatos, since I knew he had a transport.  That was when you arrived, and the rest you know." 

Qui-Gon was looking at the hand he was holding, his long fingers slowly stroking Obi-Wan's palm.  "This Elgar should be held to account.  Slave-dealing, kidnap and threat, forcing you into such an abominable life.  Had he contacted the Temple, I would have been there in a few days." 

"Yes, he behaved badly, and he knows it, I think.  If he is still on Beefect when we go back for the children, I admit I will be surprised.  However, he could have done much worse.  There are drugs that he could have used on me, turned me into a mindless addict who would do anything for more of the same.  Or mindwiping or torture or he could have simply chained me somewhere and people would have paid to abuse me that way.  I'm not saying what he did was right, but by his standards he treated me well."  Obi-Wan smiled at the doubtful tilt of his lover's eyebrows.  "No, it's true!  I even have a fairly large amount of credits set aside for me in an account there - which will go to the children, of course." 

Qui-Gon lifted the hand to his lips and kissed the palm.  "You are more tolerant and forgiving than I am, love.  I have warmed myself for days now thinking of Elgar and Xanatos spinning slowly on a spit over a fire somewhere." 

Obi-Wan looked - really looked - at his lover.  There were lines and shadows where there had been none before, a hard and bitter edge to this man who meant more to him than life.  "And you?" he asked softly, stroking the fine new growth of beard on Qui-Gon's cheeks.  "I don't imagine these weeks have been good for you." 

"No.  Not knowing if you were alive or dead, and then finding out where you were, what was being done to you. . ."  Qui-Gon took both of Obi-Wan's hands and held them to his chest, near to his heart.  "You given more than a few more grey hairs, and I swear I've aged a decade over these last weeks."  A little of hard line left his mouth as Obi-Wan's fingers gently stroked him.  "I fear I'll be too old for you sooner than later." 

"You think so?"  Obi-Wan leant closer and lifted his hands, cupped Qui-Gon's face and kissed him, putting all of his love and respect and need into that kiss.  His sighed at last,  at peace again in Qui-Gon's arms.  "The Force is strong in you, my Master.  It will be until the day you join it." 

On the way home aboard Xanatos’ ship, Obi-Wan studied the small chip that had been taken from his head.  Tiny, not even filling his palm, and it changed so much about him, shown him that a Jedi is more than the Force, and yet part of it still.  

_Without it, still I remained Jedi.  They didn’t reach the essential centre, the inviolate party of me.  Only Xanatos, and only because I allowed it._

He suspected those moments of passion with Xanatos would remain him forever, undeniably potent as they were.  Obi-Wan had never known such pleasure with Qui-Gon.  Love, yes, loyalty and trust and a sharing unlike any other.  But that pure animal potency, that fire in his mind and – 

Why not?  Obi-Wan began to smile, fingering the chip and he looked across to where Qui-Gon sat behind the hired pilot.  Yes, why not indeed?  _Havent’ we always been taught that life is a learning process, that we’re never to old to gain experience._   _I am certainly experienced.  
_

As if feeling his glance, Qui-Gon turned to smile at him, one eyebrow quirking up at the undoubedly puzzlng look on his lover’s face. 

_Get used to it, lover.  You don’t spend weeks in a brothel and not end up with some very creative ideas about sex._

As the blurring river of stars flowed past the window, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and sighed.  Yes, he was rather looking forward to getting home.


End file.
